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atlabeth · 1 month ago

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unadulterated loathing (pt 2)

pt 1 / pt 3

pairing: fiyero tigelaar x fem reader

summary: you are forced to partner with fiyero on a history project. things don't go as you imagine.

a/n: sprinkling anthony bridgerton references in this because wreck my plans that's my man!! anyways this is actually going to be 3 parts because i have zero self control and ended up writing 15k words in total and im trying to see whether i like posting parts or doing one whole one shot more so there's going to be a third part. but for once in my writer life i have the whole thing written so it will be out in a couple days! have no idea how this fic became this long out of nowhere but i hope you all enjoy lol. stressed reader x calm bf will always be famous on this blog

wc: 4.9k

warning(s): almost cheating? fiyero is still w/ galinda for most of this so the line is very blurred but they dont cross it lmao. the slightest bit of angst but basically all fluff

“Isn’t this nice?” Fiyero spread his arms out as you took a seat in the grass. Idly, you wondered about getting grass stains out before he started talking again. “Fresh air, actual sunlight, and things to look at other than words on a page.”

“I do go outside,” you said wryly. “You act like I’m some hermit.”

He shrugged. “I only ever see you in class or at the library.”

“I’m just there most of the time,” you said with a slight laugh. “I’m not this smart by slacking off.”

Fiyero said your name with surprise. “Was that a joke?”

You laughed again. “Hardly.”

“I think it was,” he nodded. “You really are learning how to have fun.”

“I know how to have fun!” you exclaimed. “We just have different ideas of fun!”

“And what is your idea of fun?” Fiyero asked pointedly. “Studying? Attending class? Going through the intricacies of various languages?”

“That last one is very fun,” you defended.

“How did you decide on linguistics anyways?” he asked. “You’re incredibly passionate about something I didn’t even know was a major here.”

“It’s not, technically.” You shrugged. “I’m a history major. I just convinced Doctor Dillamond to let me be his teacher’s assistant so I could include more linguistics lessons in the syllabus.”

“How do you do it?” he asked. “Oz— why do you do it? You’re stressed all the time. Surely taking one less class or not being a TA wouldn’t kill you. All of this seems like it is.”

“I’m not like you, Fiyero,” you said. “I can’t get kicked out of a hundred schools and still be fine. I’ve got one chance, and if I squander it, then I’ve also squandered my dream. And that’s unacceptable to me.”

“There’s always second chances,” he said. “And third ones, too. Sometimes even fourth.”

“Maybe for a prince,” you laughed. “But not for somebody like me.”

“And just who are you?” Fiyero asked as he sat down next to you. “I know you’re Gillikinese and I know you’re probably going to succeed in whatever you attempt. But I still feel like I don’t know anything about who you are without the school uniform.”

“Why does that matter?” you asked defensively. “We’re project partners, not friends.”

“Because I’d very much like us to be friends,” he answered simply.

That might have been the most shocking thing he’d said all day. Fiyero Tigelaar, Winkie prince and self-declared slacker and desired paramour of nearly every Shiz student, said he wanted to be your friend.

Again, that warmth bloomed inside you. You tried to ignore it—tried to fully banish it.

“Don’t do this,” you said, looking away from him.

“Do what?”

“Act like you like me,” you said, stronger this time. “You— you do it with everyone, and that’s fine, but don’t do it with me.”

“I’m not following,” Fiyero said.

You glared at him. “I know you aren’t this daft.”

“Apologies,” he said. “I’m just trying to figure out how you figured I don’t genuinely like you.”

You blinked. “Because you’re you. You flirt with everybody so you can dance through life.”

“Of course,” Fiyero agreed. “It just so happens that I genuinely like you in addition.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Why?”

His laugh was nothing but shocked. “Are you asking me why I like you?”

“Well,” you glanced away with a huff, “when you put it like that it sounds ridiculous.”

“I’ll bite anyways,” Fiyero said. “I like you because you know what you want. You never really stop talking about it, honestly.”

“Are you trying to compliment me?”

“You’re intelligent and driven and you don’t shy away from anything you want,” he continued. “And you thoroughly vex me in near every encounter we have, most joyously.”

“…So you like me because I’m stubborn and confusing,” you said.

Fiyero sighed. “You‘ve got some serious self esteem issues.”

“I do not!” you exclaimed.

“You’ve tied your worth to your academic achievement,” he said. “You can’t see all the good you’ve already done, how smart you truly are, because you only stress about the next thing you need to do. You’d rather lose your mind over what’s to come than realize all you’ve got in the moment.”

Your mouth opened and closed for a good five seconds, like a fish out of water, before it snapped shut.

“I thought you were supposed to be brainless,” you settled on.

“I am,” Fiyero agreed with a chuckle. “But I also know people better than most, and our study sessions have given me ample time to study you.”

Great Oz, why was your face so hot? You felt like you were burning up from the inside out. Fiyero Tigelaar was killing you, and slowly at that.

“Why are you studying me?” you asked pointedly.

“Because you’re interesting,” he said. “And very beautiful.”

“Well, I’m— I’m glad we’ve finally reached a truce.” You tried to sound as casual as possible—you couldn’t let Fiyero know the full effect he was beginning to have on you. You didn’t think he would ever shut up about that, and Galinda certainly wouldn’t either. You didn’t want to make an enemy of her. “It’ll make this project much easier.”

“Yes,” Fiyero mused. “I believe it will.”

Amusement, and maybe something warmer, danced in his irises. A very small part of you wanted to let yourself fall, freely and uncaring, just as every other student did.

You had to lock that part of you away, never to be seen again. You didn’t like Fiyero. He was still a nuisance in every single sense of the word.

You swallowed, trying to cure your cottonmouth. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice.

You needed to finish this essay immediately.

You sighed when you heard a knock on your door. Coralie, for how smart she was, had a habit of forgetting her room key—so much so that you’d stopped bothering to lock the door on the days she went to class before you.

“It’s unlocked, Cora!” you called out. You didn’t want to get up from your desk, not when you were in the middle of writing. You were worried that you would lose the thread of inspiration you’d finally caught the moment you got out of your chair.

“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked,” a familiar voice said. “All sorts of miscreants could get in.”

Your hand slipped in your shock, but you couldn’t even be annoyed about smearing the fresh ink on the page or getting it on your shirt cuffs because you had more important things to worry about. Namely, your surprise visitor.

“Fiyero?”

“Present,” he affirmed as he leaned against your doorframe. “You’ve got a nice place here.”

“Thank you,” you said. “What are you doing here?”

“Much less pink than Galinda’s,” he continued. “I think it’s the only color she owns, honestly. A bit absurd but—”

“What are you doing here?” you repeated.

“I should be asking you that question,” Fiyero said, eyes narrowing in on you. “I went to the library and you weren’t there.”

You cleared your throat. “I was giving you the day off.”

He frowned and stood up from the doorframe. “Who said I wanted the day off?”

“You,” you said. “When you didn’t show up to Doctor Dillamond’s class today.”

Fiyero brushed his hand through the air. “That’s different.”

You looked at him expectantly. “So you skipped the class this project is for, but you don’t want to skip the actual project.”

“That sounds about right, yes.”

“You don’t even do anything whenever we’re together,” you said. “You just stare at me and complain about doing work and ask me about my life and take an hour to write one page of notes.”

“That also sounds about right,” Fiyero said. “I enjoy your presence. Do you not enjoy mine?”

If only he knew the way he’d been making you feel for the past week. He could never know that he appeared in your dream last night.

“...Your presence is fine,” you said. “I just figured I would give you the day off, seeing as we only have one week left until it’s due.”

“How much have you written already without me?” he asked.

“Five pages, but that—”

“You’ve nearly done half of the project without me?” Fiyero interrupted.

“...Yes?” Why did you actually feel bad about this?

Fiyero got closer so he could look over your shoulder at your work, and you found yourself holding your breath at his proximity.

“Do you think you’re doing me a favor?”

“Clearly,” you said. “The sooner it’s done, the sooner it’s over, and the sooner you don’t have to deal with me anymore.” You shrugged. “You said you wanted to ride my coattails anyways, so I figured I would make it easier for you.”

“Just a few days ago you were chastising me for not doing my part,” Fiyero said. “Now you’re not even letting me try?”

“I—” the words stuck in your throat, and again you felt your face heat.

I don’t want to have to think about any of this more than I have to because I’m worried what I’ll realize.

I don’t want to give you any more chances to take me off course because I know I’ll say yes.

I don’t want to be around you longer than I have to because I think I’m starting to like you.

“Yes?”

“I am doing you a favor,” you finally decided. “You don’t have to worry about it. Go ride that horse of yours, or bother other students, or spend time with Galinda. You’ve earned it.”

“Hardly,” Fiyero said. “I’m doing my part, whether you like it or not. We’ll meet at the library tomorrow morning before class like we’ve been doing.”

“I have class at 8 in the morning tomorrow.”

“...Then we’ll do it after class,” he reneged. “I do need my beauty sleep.”

That got a smile out of you, which spurned one from Fiyero in turn. “I think that is one of the only genuine smiles you’ve given me since we started working together.”

“I smile plenty,” you insisted.

“At your books,” Fiyero said. “Not at me.”

“That’s because my books are oh-so-beautiful,” you said. “And they don’t even need beauty sleep.”

He placed his hand on his heart. “You wound me.”

Your smile grew and you set your pen down. “The library after class?”

Fiyero nodded and tapped on your desk as he stood up. “Library after class.”

He was about to go to the door when Coralie poked her head in. “Why is the door— oh! Fiyero!” She straightened up, plastering on a pretty smile as she stepped inside. “What brings you to our corner of Shiz?”

“Doctor Dillamond’s midterm,” he said. “Your roommate here is trying to save all of the fun for herself.”

“That sounds like her,” Cora nodded sagely. “You’re very good to try and keep her from that fate.”

Fiyero pressed his hand to his chest. “I consider it my duty. But I apologize for the intrusion—I’ll leave the two of you be.”

“Oh, stay as long as you want,” she spoke up. “I’m sure your partner wouldn’t mind.”

“He’s got things to do,” you interceded. “You’ve got things to do, Fiyero.”

He smiled knowingly. “I certainly do. You lovely ladies have a fine rest of your day.” He looked at you and said your name. “Don’t forget tomorrow.”

“How could I?” you said weakly.

Fiyero chuckled and bowed his head in lieu of more parting words. The second he left, Cora turned to you with wide eyes.

“Don’t,” you warned.

“He came here to talk to you!” she exclaimed. “He found out your room number because he wanted to talk to you!”

“Be quiet!” you exclaimed. “The door is still open—he can probably hear your screeching!”

Coralie shut the door and squealed. “He likes you!”

“We are project partners,” you enunciated. “Nothing more.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s what you think,” she said. “Just like I’m sure that he wants to be more.”

“You’re acting like he isn’t with Galinda,” you said. “She controls this whole school—do you remember what happened to Elphaba when she didn’t like her?”

Cora shrugged. “Sure. But I’ve been hearing there’s trouble in paradise.”

That got you paying attention. “What?”

“I knew it!” Coralie exclaimed—nearly yelled, honestly. “I knew you liked him!”

“Be quiet!” you whisper-yelled. “Oz, what is wrong with you?”

“I knew you liked him!” she repeated. “And he likes you— oh, it is too perfect!”

“He does not like me,” you insisted, “and you are crazy.”

“You didn’t say that you didn’t like him,” Coralie sung, and you screwed your eyes shut.

“Fine!” you finally said. “Fine— I like him. Will you stop now?”

“Of course not,” she said, and you sighed. “How bad do you have it?”

“I don’t have it bad,” you scoffed. “I just— I enjoy spending time with him. And I think he’s kind of cute.”

“Oh, you are full on head over heels,” she mused. “You just don’t know it. It’s okay.”

You groaned as you buried your head in your hands. “I hate you.”

She laughed. “And you like Fiyero.”

“Shut up.” Your words were muffled, but you meant them all the same.

You were comically doomed.

The next day went… shockingly smooth.

Fiyero was in the library when he said he’d be—he was even there before you, much to your surprise and he still had the notebook and pen you’d given him, much to his surprise. He made sure to bring an extra canteen of water for you, because he noticed you never had any with you. You were probably concerningly dehydrated.

He tried to be a more attentive student to you than he’d ever been at any of his classes—not that that was difficult. You explained your outline and all the work you’d already done, what he could do on the last five pages and how to make his writing voice match yours to make a consistent paper.

He wrote notes both on what you knew about Ilara Mayfair (a ridiculous amount, in his opinion) and anything else you thought he needed to know (also a ridiculous amount).

He was impressed most of all, though. No wonder you’d isolated yourself from near the entire student body and stressed over every letter in every sentence in every assignment. You were incredibly intelligent, but you were also able to explain everything in a way that even he understood. Fiyero had never really cared about… well, anything relating to school before he ended up partners with you.

But now, Fiyero found himself surprisingly entranced by it all. He’d always liked your voice, and he had a permanent smile on his lips watching you talk so easily about your passions. It put a spark in your eye and a brightness about you that was usually bogged down by everything else that you stressed about.

You were beautiful, especially when you were happy. And Fiyero had discovered over the past week that you were happiest when you got to talk about what you cared about to an interested audience. He only regretted acting like he wasn’t interested for so long.

Finally, when Fiyero called a break on account of his hands aching (he’d never written this much in his life, and it still was only half of what you did basically every day), and you were eating an apple (that he also brought, because you really didn’t take care of yourself when you were doing work, which was always), he smiled at you.

“You know, we really do make a good team,” Fiyero said.

You swallowed the bite of apple you had in your mouth and cocked your head as you looked at him. “You think?”

“I know,” he nodded. “You’ve done the impossible, darling. You’ve actually made me care about school.”

“Well, I think you’ve done the impossible too.” You lifted the apple up. “You made me care about my health during midterms season.”

“It certainly wasn’t easy,” he said wryly. “You kind of took it all kicking and screaming.”

You shrugged. “I’m not top of our class for nothing.”

“Do you have to stress yourself into misery to be top of the class?” he asked.

“I’m not miserable,” you retorted.

It was when you said things like that that Fiyero really began to worry about you. It was part of the reason he was so intent on staying by your side through this whole project—no matter how dull he found the material—after the first session. He sometimes saw you around campus, usually carrying a stack of books or talking with your roommate.

After Fiyero was paired with you, he wondered why he didn’t see you more before it all, considering how active you were with literally everything school-wise. Then he realized you were likely always in the library, and the only time he’d visited the library was on Galinda’s tour. You were there, well enough, but you took your leave as soon as things started getting rowdy.

A shame, he realized. He wondered what your relationship could have been had Galinda not staked her claim on him so soon.

You weren’t going to take care of yourself, clearly enough, so Fiyero decided—at least for the duration of this project—that he would. It didn’t really matter if you were top of the class if you passed out from stress, exhaustion, annoyance, or a mix of all three. Likely a mix of all three.

He didn’t really anticipate those feelings morphing into genuine affection.

“I seem to recall you saying you dream of your future assignments,” Fiyero said, coming out of his thoughts. “That doesn’t sound like the habit of a happy person.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “Everybody has stress dreams.”

“You know, I really don’t think they do,” Fiyero said.

You rolled your eyes as you picked your pen up with your free hand and jotted down a few more sentences. “Sure.”

“On that note,” he said, “why don’t we call it a day?”

“We can’t call it a day,” you said. You took another bite from your apple and swallowed, continuing to write all the while without looking at him. “We’re not finished yet.”

“That is the most casually you’ve said that so far,” Fiyero mused. “I really am making progress.”

You laughed, finally paying him mind. “Progress with what?”

“I’ve been tracking your smiles and laughs this whole time,” he said. “See, this essay was your project, but that was mine—trying to make you enjoy your life.”

“This essay is both of our projects, Fiyero,” you said. “Besides, I don’t think Doctor Dillamond will accept your bar graph of all the times I laughed at you making a fool of yourself.” You frowned. “Or would it be a line graph because it’s over time? Or maybe it could be—”

“Alright,” he interrupted. “You’re going into hypotheticals on my joke. That’s clearly the sign that we need to call it a day.”

“…Fine,” you reneged. “But it’s just a break, not calling it a day. And I get to finish proofreading the rest of the essay when we get back.”

“A compromise,” Fiyero said. “Love it.”

You rolled your eyes as you started gathering your things. “You love everything.”

“Eh,” he tilted his head, and you felt his eyes on you. “Most things.”

You couldn’t help your smile, much as you tried to bite it back. “Whatever.”

Soon enough, you and Fiyero were sitting together by the dock. You let your legs dangle over as you watched the scenery around campus—the ripple of the water, the gentle brush of the wind, the chirping birds that flew around without a care.

“Isn’t this nice?” Fiyero asked. He also had his legs over the edge, but he’d laid down against the stone.

“You don’t have to push your relaxation propaganda so hard anymore,” you said wryly. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“And I’m grateful for it,” he said. “Someone that works as hard as you do deserves to relax the same amount.”

“We’ve gone over this a thousand times—”

“I know,” he interrupted. He turned his head to smile at you. “I just have to hope that some of it sticks.”

You rolled your eyes, once again unable to hide your smile. “And I have to hope for the same with this paper. Do you think you’ll remember any of this once we turn it in?”

“Oh, but of course. You were the one to teach it to me, after all. I could hardly forget it all.”

“Good,” you said. “Everyone should know about Ilara Mayfair.”

Fiyero chuckled, and you once again fell into comfortable silence.

That was the thing that shocked you the most, you think. Not that you were beginning to like Fiyero, or that you actually liked Fiyero, or that you actually looked forward to spending time with him. It was that you were so comfortable just sitting with him in silence.

It was very difficult to get to the silence, though. Fiyero couldn’t really stay quiet, and you didn’t know if he liked talking or the sound of his own voice. But you found it didn’t really annoy you like it used to.

Great Oz. You really were into him. How embarrassing.

Eventually, when the strain in your wrists and fingers from writing had finally faded, you turned your head to look at Fiyero. “I think it’s time we go back.”

He sighed. “Already?”

“It’s been fifteen minutes,” you said. “Far longer than the breaks I usually take.”

He opened his mouth, likely to say something of the same ‘you need to relax’ ilk, but you held up your hand. “Don’t. Just be thankful you got me away for this long.”

Fiyero smiled, and he pulled himself up off the ground. “I always am.”

He held his hand out, and you stared at him for a moment. “Why do you always do that?”

“Help you up?”

You nodded. “I can do it myself.”

He shrugged. “I told you it was my project to make your life easier.”

“You said it was your project to track my happiness,” you said.

“And they go hand in hand,” he said. “I’m surprised you remember.”

“It happened thirty minutes ago, Fiyero,” you said wryly. “Besides, I remember everything. It’s a gift.”

Fiyero laughed, and you finally took his hand. He pulled you up and once again, you tumbled a bit too close—and again, his hand fell to your waist. He had to be doing this on purpose by now.

“We keep finding ourselves in this position,” Fiyero mused.

Heat flooded your cheeks like usual. “And whose fault is that?”

“Well,” he said, tilting his head, “you’re not exactly pulling away.”

Your mouth opened, trying to think of what words to say when your head was reeling from his mere presence. But then you saw a flash of pink in the background, and your eyes darted away from Fiyero.

Galinda. She was distracted, talking with Pfannee and Shenshen as she went down the stairs. Oz, how did she slip your mind so easily whenever Fiyero was in your proximity? Why did you let him get this close when he was spoken for?

You panicked—nothing less. You tore out of Fiyero’s grasp with a bit too much gumption, and then you stumbled, then you slipped, and then you fell. Fiyero called your name in shock, reaching his hand out, but it was too late. You’d plunged into the water before you could save yourself.

The cold water instantly shocked all your senses, your eyes widening as you gasped out on instinct. Your mouth filled with water and your muscles seized up from the change in temperature—it was so much deeper than you’d imagined, and all your layers of clothing weighing you down were of no use.

You tried your damnedest to ignore the alarm bells going off in your head as you fought against yourself, finally gathering the sense to swim. You kicked your way up to the top, gasping for air once when you breached the surface.

You heard Fiyero yell your name again and you blinked rapidly, trying to clear the water from your eyes. When everything finally came into focus, you saw him on his knees, his coat shed and his sleeves rolled up.

His eyes were wide as he reached his hand out, once again saying your name—this time with a certain desperation. “Are you alright?”

You tried to respond but all you could do was cough, trying to expel the water from your lungs. You took his hand and he helped pull you up onto the dock, where an exhale shuddered out of you.

“I— I am so sorry,” he stammered. It was the first time you’d ever seen him flustered, and you were too busy hacking up a lung to point it out. “Obviously I didn’t think—”

You held up your hand in lieu of saying something, as you didn’t think you could say something.

This was so stupid, and it was something that never would have happened before you and Fiyero started working together. Your paper was due in two days, you’d only just finished the draft, you still had so much proofreading and rewriting to do, and instead, you were here on the docks soaked to the bone.

And you found yourself laughing.

“Oh, Oz,” Fiyero said. “You’ve lost it.”

You couldn’t refute it, because you kept laughing. You could feel the eyes of your classmates on you, could hear them whispering to each other—likely making fun of you—and it only made you laugh harder.

“Are—” Fiyero chuckled nervously as he said your name, “are you okay?”

“I’m soaked,” you got out through your laughs. “And everyone saw me fall into the water. I’m a fool, Fiyero!”

He was still staring at you in that careful way, as if you were made of glass. “I can’t tell if you’re mad or not.”

“Oh, Fiyero.” You wiped the trailing water off of your face and wrapped your arms around him. You felt him freeze beneath you for the slightest moment—it had to have been the last thing he expected you to do. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Fiyero returned the hug, his movements still unsure. He didn’t seem to care that you were getting him wet, just about your wellbeing. “What— what for, exactly?”

For a moment, you couldn’t look away. His blue eyes were meant to enrapture, his soft lips typically an invitation sealed with a smirk. But for once, Fiyero looked genuine—he wasn’t putting on a performance, or trying to seduce anyone who looked at him. He was genuinely sorry, genuinely confused. It only made you laugh again.

“What for, indeed.” A higher voice pierced through the air, and you separated from Fiyero immediately. Galinda, to no surprise, had found her way over to the chaos you’d created, her compatriots flanking her on either side. She smiled at you brightly, but her whole demeanor was like a violin string pulled taut.

“Galinda,” Fiyero said. “Lovely to see you.” He didn’t seem half as shocked as you at her appearance, but his words fell flat.

“And you as well, dearest.” Her smile turned sickly sweet as she shifted her attention to Fiyero momentarily, taking the opportunity to lace her fingers with his and pull him into a kiss. He pulled away first, but if it affected Galinda, she didn’t let it show when she looked back at you. She batted her eyelashes as she said your name incorrectly. “What was it you were saying?”

The sudden combination of cottonmouth and sour guilt creeping up your throat didn’t really help your already flustered state. She knew what she was doing—but you did too, didn’t you?

She was with Fiyero. You knew that. And though Fiyero danced across the line, you took his hand every time he offered.

“I—” you cleared your throat, attempting a casual smile of your own. “Just that I know why Doctor Dillamond put us together.”

“Excellent,” Fiyero said. “Off-topic, but excellent— are you sure you didn’t hit your head down there?”

“Perhaps you should go to the nurse,” Galinda said. “I’m sure Shenshen could—”

“I’ll be fine,” you interrupted, your smile tightening ever so slightly. You looked at Fiyero. “Meet me at the library tonight, and bring coffee. We’re finishing this project tonight.

“Of course,” he nodded.

You nodded as well, and you started to go. Galinda’s gaze was sugary sweet poison, and you couldn’t take the weight of it anymore.

“Wait,” Fiyero spoke up.

You stopped against your better judgment, and he let go of Galinda’s hand to take his jacket off. He moved closer to you and wrapped it around you. His touch, light but certain, lingered on your shoulders once he’d finished adjusting it, and his gaze stayed on yours

“Until you can change,” he said.

“...Thank you,” you said.

Galinda cleared her throat extremely loudly, her taut smile back. You remembered yourself and stepped away from Fiyero.

“I’ll see you tonight,” you said, already starting on your way. You wouldn’t let him stop you again.

“Tonight,” he agreed, bowing his head in parting.

You only glanced back once you were by the stairs. When you did, you saw Galinda speaking rapidly to Fiyero—you were too far away to hear anything, but she didn’t look happy. When your gaze drifted to him, you found he was already looking at you. Almost subconsciously, you tugged his jacket tighter around you. When you realized what you were doing, you stopped. You averted your eyes immediately and hurried up the stairs.

You weren’t out of breath from exertion.

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smuttysabina · 6 months ago

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Tropical Passions with Lisa

(Lisa x Male Reader, 5.3k Words) Tags: Incest with your older sister Lalisa; A conflicted sibling relationship; A forceful start to the sex; Makeup sex; Creampies; Virgin sex; Getting deflowered by your hot older sister is fun; Blowjob; Intimate sex; Technically some cucking going on; Written in one sitting; Step-sibling sex is for cowards, make them blood related; A wholesome and loving conclusion

You had always hated your older sister Lalisa. She had constantly hogged your parents' and peers' attention, gorging herself on their praise while your own achievements had been duly ignored; and of course, she had been an unrepentant slut. It was a rare night that your sleep had not been uninterrupted by the sounds of Lisa fucking some lover of any gender, her bed creaking so badly she required a new one every year, how she managed to remain unimpregnated was beyond you. Naturally, growing up with such a whore of a sister had caused you to follow the complete opposite path, so while she had ascended to sex-drenched idol-hood, you had instead quietly completed school and gotten yourself a pure and sweet girlfriend. Not that you had done anything yet. Sex before marriage? Appalling! Public displays of affection? Disgusting! Mutual Masturbation? Nauseating! Hand holding, fingers locked? Perverse! Only the chastest of kisses, and wholesome hugs were allowable, and it brought you no small amount of joy that she wholeheartedly agreed with you. So it infuriated you to no end that you were unable to bring her along with you on yet another family vacation to some tropical retreat, no doubt your parents were overly worried about how she would react to your harlot of a sister, but you looked forward to seeing her again. You just had to make it through dealing with whatever mindless debaucheries your big sister Lisa had cooked up for this trip...

Awareness comes slowly to you, reality slowly bleeding into your dreams as you gradually become aware of your surroundings, your nerves tingling as they lazily report upon the myriad sensations assaulting them. The exquisite softness of the sheets encasing you, the gentle cold air of the AC caressing your face, the burning sensitivity of your staggering erection digging into the mattress, and the strange patch of warmth in the bed beside you. You start, flinching away from the person curled up mere inches from you, scooting to the edge of the mattress as they groan softly in protest. Lisa blearily raises her head up from her pillow, squinting at you in confusion before collapsing back onto it and letting out an indignant whine, wriggling to find a comfortable position before falling back asleep. Your heart hammering, you slip carefully out of bed, doing your best not to disturb your sister, all the while cursing your parents for forcing you to share a room with her, this was certainly not helping you two bond. The fact that there was only bed was a further annoyance, it was a huge one to be sure, but Lisa seemed to unconsciously seek out heat in her sleep and latch onto her target like a leech, so in reality you ended up far closer together than you would have liked. Which made dealing with your morning wood all the more awkward, since you were loath to masturbate, your member tended towards truly spectacular erections come the dawn, urging you to give in to your vile thoughts and pleasure it. Ignoring your disgustingly drooling penis was difficult at the best of times, but with the scent of a woman in your nostrils, no matter that she was your sister, made resisting your wicked meat nearly unbearable. Every morning you would cover it in an ice-cold washcloth, but even then it would defiantly stand strong for many minutes before ungraciously retreating. Needless to say, your testicles were in constant agony.

After dealing with your unwanted visitor, you check your phone, lovingly responding to your girlfriend's messages before learning that your parents once again had skipped off on some early morning jaunt and would only be back by evening. So, yet another day you would have to spend solely in the company of your whore sister, wonderfully. Though, to be fair to Lisa, you had yet to see her engage in her usual wanton behaviour, you did not doubt for a moment that she had been busy messing around while you were not looking. With a resigned sigh you order breakfast, spend the next hour idly munching upon it, waiting for your sister to finally get her lazy ass out of bed. Eventually she stirs, and yawning a good morning she stumbles into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door as usual so you are forced to listen as she voids her bladder. Lisa plops down into the chair across from you with a smile, wearing little more than an overly large shirt and her underwear, an outfit which makes perfect sense considering the heated locale. Cheerfully devouring some fruit, she kindly asks if you had any ideas what you wanted to do today? After all, yesterday you two had such a great time at the aquarium, Lisa hadn't seen you that excited in years! In the face of such relentless enthusiasm you give in, and tentatively raise the idea of going snorkeling together? Beaming, your sister happily agrees.

You had always felt somewhat disgusted whenever your sister had worn something showy, a natural reaction for a sibling to have, but also one born out of disapproval of her loose living. Still, you grudgingly had to admit that Lisa looked absolutely stunning in her yellow bikini, no wonder so many men were desperately enthralled by her. Her tanned skin gorges upon the sunlight, the dappled reflection of the water only serving to enhance her beauty, even with the giant goggles and snorkel goofily attached to her face she still turned heads as you strode deeper into the surf together. She even held your hand as she guided you into the ocean, something you could barely tolerate, yet over the past few days, and against your better judgement, you had felt yourself warming up to your benighted sister, but just a little bit. You get a faceful of Lisa's ass as she smoothly switches from walking to swimming, and a slight tingling fills your groin; perhaps you should not grow too relaxed around this slut lest you be corrupted... But the next few hours pass in a delightfully wholesome fashion, the pair of you leisurely swimming along the reef and admiring the reefs and flourishing wildlife; it was almost enough to make you forget what a whore Lisa was.

It was only later that day though, that the old Lisa you knew so well started to shine through this charade she was putting on. You were relaxing in a small, shaded pool, secluded by shrubbery with your sister curled up intimately close to you, chatting idly about how the day had gone when she finally pops the question. Wearing the sly grin universal to older siblings everywhere, Lisa asks, "So, tell me about this girlfriend of yours, is she cute?" Blood rushes to your face immediately as you sputter at the sudden inquiry, which only makes your sister's smile grow ever more predatory. She squishes herself against your side, throwing an arm around your shoulder and cooing, "Don't be shy, show me a picture of her, c'mon!" Flustered, you haltingly pull up a picture of you beloved on your phone for Lisa to hem and haw at appreciatively, her eyes flicking all over the screen as she judges her in a thousand minute ways before nodding in approval, "She looks pretty enough, has she been treating you well?", Lisa gives you a knowing smirk, "How is she in bed?" A surge of outrage fills you as you angrily inform your dear sister that you and your girlfriend had not engaged in any such foul activities, nor would you be until you were happily! Lisa gawps at your outburst, cold fury crossing her face before giving way to worry, "Is it... not working for you two in bed," she places a hand on your thigh in support, mere inches away from a bulging pressure in your shorts, "Are you... unable to get it up with her?" You repay her honest concern with open scorn, grumbling angrily, you surge up out of the cozy pool and storm off back to your room, leaving Lisa yelling platitudes at your retreating back. Really, she really just did not understand!

Lisa watches her baby brother stomp away with hurt roiling in her stomach, what the fuck was wrong with him? Well, she partially knew, honestly how could she not feel more than a little guilty about being an awful older sister growing up? Being the village bicycle had satisfied her powerful sexual needs, but it had no doubt given her brother all sorts of unwanted pressure and attention. Of course, once she had become an idol, her sexual appetites had grown voracious, and no doubt embarrassing to her younger sibling back home, but she had always made sure to try and send gifts to cheer him up. Instead he seemed to loathe Lisa, and no matter how hard she tried to patch things up, things always fell apart, usually whenever he caught her slaking her desires with some new lover. But not on this trip! No, on this trip Lisa had been on her best behaviour, applying every ounce of her willpower to keep her lusts in check, engaging in only the most innocently enjoyable activities with her brother; displaying nary a glimpse of her usual sex life. In spite of that, he had been downright weird since he had gotten here, well, more so than usual. She had expected the customary puritanical song and dance, but with him having a girlfriend for a couple years now, she had hoped he would have opened up a little. But no, instead if anything he seemed even more repressed than normal, getting hard constantly and always on edge about everything. He was leaking so much at night Lisa could smell his precum staining the sheets in the morning, and she was honestly surprised his raging erection had not torn a hole in his boxers whenever he scrambled out of bed to use the restroom. Hell, he hadn't masturbated even once since they had gotten to this tropical paradise, most guys would have blown a few loads in the shower and dispelled the tension, if anything Lisa was not sure if he had cum even a week before the trip!

The constant reek of pent up semen in their room was starting to get to Lisa, she was already feeling twitchy, having deprived herself of sexual stimulation for so long, this was probably the most days she had gone without fucking in years. She really should take her own advice and at least masturbate, but the last thing she wanted was her brother sheepishly returning to apologize only to find her knuckle deep inside herself, so she endured. Still, something was obviously wrong in her little brother's relationship, and she was determined to fix it; after all, even as warped as she had become, she still felt responsible for him as his older sister. But first, Lisa needed some advice, and not from the other girls in Blackpink. Jisoo would give some well-meaning yet ultimately useless suggestions, Rose would offer up some complicated scheme that would really just be a front for sadism, and Jennie would simply message 'On my way', before showing up and traumatically fucking the life out of your brother in under half an hour after landing. No, Lisa needed to ask some of her more.... normal friends; well, relatively normal. Minutes later she was chatting avidly on the phone with Jihyo and Nayeon, both of whom were appalled by the situation their dear friend was in. Jihyo was apoplectic that Lisa's brother was not putting such potent loads to good use and impregnating his girlfriend, while Nayeon was practically drooling at the thought of being the first one to receive said load. But after a solid hour of intense conversation, the trio had produced a solution that would undoubtedly solve Lisa's darling brother's problems. It would merely require Lisa to break one of society's oldest taboos, but having broken so many already, what was one more?

You feel thoroughly wretched as you lay upon the massive king bed, your sister had been only showing you concern, and yet you had brutally rebuffed her kindness. Normally it was so easy to hate Lisa, you would only need to turn a corner while fetching ice and find her being publicly spitroasted by strangers like some sort of cheap whore, but this time at least there had been none of that. She had been the sweetest older sister a brother could ask for, constantly indulging him, taking him to see all the sights and lavishing him with love and attention; it made you uneasy. Surely Lisa was hiding something, some depraved scheme that she was enjoying while being outwardly wholesome, it had happened before, more than a few times actually. But this time she had seemed genuine, which only left you all the more conflicted, were you the one in the wrong this time? Your morose musings are halted only when Lisa enters the room, who quietly joins you on the bed, patting you reassuringly on the shoulder, "Hey, I'm sorry if I upset you earlier today, why don't we have an early night okay? I'm sure things will be better in the morning." Mulishly, you nod in assent, and slowly join her for a simple dinner at the small table, which passes by in awkward silence. Lisa only speaks up as you get into bed, "Leave your shirt off, I think something is wrong with the AC, it feels really stuffy in here..." She's right, so with reticence you take it off, and snuggle in under the covers as Lisa joins you in bed. She gives your forehead a kiss, "I love you baby brother," before flicking off the light. Perhaps the morning would heal your rift?

Once again you awaken with an inconveniently large erection impaling the mattress, with a now-familiar hot spot behind you. Groggily, you attempt to wriggle out of bed to douse your morning's embarrassment once more, but find your way barred by an arm thrown around your chest. Your confusion only grows as you realize the heat from your sleeping sister was not from her laying nearby you, but rather because she was pressed up against you, with two hard points supported by surprising softness pushing into your back. Unable to process this development, you attempt to escape Lisa's clutches, but her arm holds you tight against her warm body, and your struggles only serve to wake her up. Your big sister stretches languidly against you, which only serves to emphasize what exactly her supple form feels like as it slides against your skin; you were not the only one going shirtless it seems. You feel a perverse fascination with the sensation of Lisa's breasts, and are distracted enough that when she casually pushes onto your back and slips atop you, you offer little resistance. She gives you a sleepy smile, her face mere inches away from your own, and gives you a kiss, "Good morning baby brother, it's time to make things better..." Displeasure wells up within you once more, and you tartly ask for her to get off you, and to put some clothes on. Lisa laughs gently at this and sits up, allowing the sheets to cascade down her smooth body, revealing her perky tits, the lighter skin making the dark of her erect nipples stand out all the more; and further down... Further down the bare skin of her thick pussy lips squishes against your gargantuan hardon, the warmth of her sex burning against your shaft. You stare up in shock at your older sister's nude body, as she patiently allows you to drink in the sight of her, before sliding her hands up your chest, "Are you ready for it? Just relax, and let your big sister do all the work."

Belated realization finally hits your brain hard enough to dispel the fog of arousal filling it, and you snarl in denial at Lisa, get the fuck off of you! But your sibling ignores your demands, and when you try to push her away she catches your hands and pins you down with surprising strength; as she frowns in annoyance, "Fuck, calm down! I am sick and tired of your weird chastity bullshit, it's not normal, so I'm going to take some responsibility as your older sister and fix things," Moving your hands above your head so she can keep them down with one of hers, she smoothly reaches down and pulls out your filthy dick, which drools disgustingly in excitement. Running a finger through the bubbling precum, Lisa seductively licks it clean, before giving you a sharp look, "Wait, when was the last time you came? Just how pent up are you?" Flushing with impotent fury and embarrassment, you answer truthfully, it had been two weeks since your treacherous manhood had last filled your sheets while you slept. Your sister shakes her head incredulously, "Yeah, that is fucking weird, you have a cute girlfriend, use her you moron; or just masturbate like a normal guy!" Lisa sighs, "Okay, let's do this, time to get your cherry popped little brother!" Regaining her usual cheer, your sibling ignores your struggles as you writhe and buck beneath her, her panties shoved into your mouth to stifle your continuous screams of outrage, as she slowly lines herself up. Your older sister gives you the sweetest smile, "I love you," before taking your virginity.

The sordid heat of Lisa's cunt engulfs your sensitive member, its soft folds slobbering all over your shaft as it devours every inch of you until her lower lips kiss your crotch. You groan in despair as your innocence is lost, you had intended that your first time be with your beloved on the night of your marriage, but instead your slut of a- Your body abruptly silences your internal raging as it floods your brain with pleasure, responding to the overwhelming and novel stimulation coming from your cock, it reacts naturally. You groan as your hips slam treacherously upwards, and the fattest load of your life explodes into your sister, richly rewarding her pussy for taking your virginity. Lisa lets out a soft gasp as you creampie her, she had barely even sat on your dick and you were already cumming in her; she smirks, virgins always finished so quickly. She opens her mouth to congratulate you, then pauses and glances down, where your balls continue to pulse; slowly, she slides herself back up your shaft as you gradually fill her pussy with your seed. Post-coital bliss wrestles with horrid guilt, as the catastrophic euphoria of your orgasm fades, remorse stabbing at you for so enjoying being forcibly assaulted by your own sister. Lisa meanwhile is ogling as she tentatively pokes at her sloppy holes, even filled to the brim she was barely leaking, "Fuck, just how much did you cum in me? If this was your girlfriend, she would be knocked up for sure; shit, this might be enough to be risky even for me!" She reaches down to pat your cheek affectionately, "But see, that wasn't so hard was it, didn't it feel so nice just letting it all out? So now that you're nice and drained we..." your older sister trails off as she glances down at your still rock-hard erection, "Oh."

Lisa lets out an astonished giggle as she teases you, "Wow, just how badly do you want to fuck your sister?" Then she stops, and gives you a quizzical look, "Wait, is that it? Is that why you've been so moody around me all this time?" You growl angrily up at her, and she winces as she remembers your gag, once removed however, you fervently deny her claims, while a creeping horror fills you as a little voice in your head agrees with her. But no matter what lies your mouth might say, your cock was entirely truthful as it lets out another leak of precum, beyond eager to be inside of your sister once more. An awkward silence falls as you both stare at your engorged manhood, before looking at one another for a time. Lisa's face crumples as she sobbingly embraces you, holding you tight as ugly tears course down her face, "Oh, you silly idiot, you should have told me! You've spent all these years watching everyone else have their turn with your big sister, but never you! Fuck, I should have known you would be jealous! I'm so sorry for being such a failure of a big sister!" Tentatively, you delicately bring you arms around Lisa, torn between shoving her off of you, or accepting that she may very well be right. Were you so violently against any hint of sexuality because you felt that your sister had spurned your unnoticeable advances while growing up; was that why you loathed her, out of fury at being denied? Your doubts shrink as Lisa kisses you once more, the wetness from her tears anointing your cheeks as her tongue pushes deep into your mouth, sloppily making out with you before pulling back. She gives you a loving smile, "Don't worry, your big sister will take responsibility for this, I'll fix things I promise!"

Beaming, your older sister sits on your cock once more, but this time Lisa was intent on not stopping until you were fully satisfied. You both moan as your member pushes through the goopy remains of your last load, and you share a knowing look; this well and truly was incest now, and it felt so right. Your sibling holds your hands as she rides you, eschewing her more showy techniques for a more primal slamming; your wildly bucking hips would have ruined any complex movements. Semen sprays everywhere as your ferocious sex expels it from Lisa's pussy, making an absolute mess as it drizzles over your skin. Your sister groans, "Fuck, no wonder you were pumping the sheets full of precum every morning, it must have been torture for you to be so close to me yet unable to relieve yourself," she gives you a wicked grin, "But now you can pump your sister full every morning instead!" The perverse thought of fucking your own sister for the rest of your trip fills you with excitement, and you swiftly grasp her petite waist to hold her steady as you pound away at her sopping cunt. Lisa's eyes roll back as she lets you have your way with her, her pussy spasming in anticipation of your next load, her hands hurriedly putting her hair into a messy bun to get it out of her face. Grunting, you creampie your older sister once more, slathering her folds with thick semen as she climaxes from the sordid pleasure of getting pumped full of cum by her baby brother. Shuddering, the pair of you makeout as your cock softens, but it is quick to surge back into full rigidity as Lisa idly rocks back and forth atop you, "Again?" she asks with a perceptive smirk.

You pump between Lisa's supple thighs with virginal passion as your sister simply lays back and takes it. Her legs wrap tightly around your waist as her hands roam your back and chest, spurring you on as you slam deep inside of her, "Oh fuck yes baby," Lisa gasps "It's your turn now, you've watched everyone else take their turn with your big sister, but she's all yours now!" You kiss her fiercely in response, as you unceasingly plow a furrow in your own sibling, your balls drenched with your congealed sexual fluids. Lisa shudders as she climaxes once more, her folds greedily massaging your shaft as you continue to fuck through her orgasm. You bite and suckle upon her neck as she holds you close, urging you on, "God, don't stop little brother, just keep fucking me until your drained! I don't care how nasty you want it, your big sister will do anything to satisfy you, I promise!" You take her up on that, as you feel your next load churning through your balls you abruptly pull out of the warm confines of your sister's pussy, before hurriedly scooting forward to shove your leaking cock into her face. Lisa knows exactly what to do, and opens her mouth in invitation as locks eyes with you, nodding encouragingly as you furiously stroke the cum out of your cock. Groaning, you jizz on your sister's face, the same face that was plastered on billboards and advertisements around the world, was now getting painted with fat ropes of your semen. Lisa doesn't blink, even when your salty load splashes against her eye, lovingly staring up at you as you cover her million-dollar face with your seed.

Lisa stops you from retreating, and with affectionate care cleans your cock off with her mouth, diligently sucking the dregs of your load out of you; before simply sucking on you for the fun of it. You quiver as your older sister gives you your first blowjob, her tongue skillfully caressing the underside of your member, as her naughty lips wrap tightly around your shaft. The sensation left you giddy, and Lisa's eye's narrow with satisfaction as she notes your obvious pleasure as she slurps up and down your length. But like any boy, you wanted to go deeper, and your sister was more than happy to oblige you. You moan loudly as Lisa deepthroats you, holding onto her bobbing head for support as you struggle to stay upright; gasping her name as she skillfully works your next load out of you. The pressure becomes unbearable, and you nearly collapse as you fill your older sister's mouth with your cum, streamers of semen even spewing directly into her stomach as she takes your spasming cock to the hilt; her salacious tongue hard at work coaxing your balls. Lisa doesn't even bother to wipe off the jizz drying on her face after you finish clogging her mouth with sperm, she can tell how much it arouses you.

You would have thought you would be satisfied by all that, but your bulging erection said otherwise. Giggling, Lisa merrily allows you to bend her over, hoisting her ass into the air and arching and spreading her cheeks to reveal your sloppy seconds leaking out of her gaping lower lips. Perverse pride permeates through you at the sight of your sister's cunt crammed full of your seed, how often had you seen someone else's load drooling out of your sister? But now she was yours, you had placed your own claim on her pussy, and you were eager to continue doing so. You shiver with barely controlled excitement as you grab her surprisingly curvy hips, you realized now how much your sister's perky ass aroused you, your cock head already glistens with precum when you push into the sloppy mess inside of Lisa. Who smirks as she feels you enter her, she can feel how eager you were to fuck her from behind just from how you penetrated her, and she knows exactly what her little brother wants, "Mhmm that's it, I bet you've been waiting to fuck me doggy this whole time, every guy does," her smile grows smug as she feels your dick stiffen, "I just love showing it off, I'm sure all your friends were blasting fat loads to my ass all the time..." she abruptly twists backwards and lovingly touches your cheek, "But now it's your turn to give your sister a good pounding, so don't hold back, okay? Lisa blows you a kiss, and moments later you are fervently fucking your older sister as if your life depended on it, who obligingly curls back down into her sharp arch to better pleasure her little brother's cock. You plow Lisa's perky butt, her cheeks slapping loudly against your skin as you work out yet another urge that had festered in your heart for years; this time, Lisa's ass was yours. Lust burns through you as you jackhammer your slut of a sister, the sheer eroticism of finally fulfilling your darkest fantasies driving you to orgasm faster than you anticipated. Howling your sister's name, your balls exert themselves once more and douse your sibling's cunt with sperm, who squeals in delight as she revels in the sensation of being filled, "Fuck yes! Fill your big sister up, cum in me, breed me!"

It was that last phrase that had you thrusting away again even before you had finished recovering from your climax, gritting your teeth as you force your tiring cock to rise to the occasion once more. Lisa looks back at you in bemusement, curious as to your sudden second wind, until she realizes, "Oh... does breeding me excite you that much," she giggles in delight, "You dirty pervert, it isn't enough to just fuck your older sister, you want to impregnate me as well?" Your increased pace is all the answer she needs, and Lisa ponders it for a moment before giving you an enormous and degenerate smile, "Why not? If you manage to knock me up, I'll keep it, it's the least your big sister can do... wait did you just cum in me again? Lisa laughs as she feels your cock spasming inside of her, "Fuck, you really want to put a baby in my belly don't you? At this rate even an idol like me might get fertilized!" Perversely, you feel yourself getting hard once more, your older sister was right, the thought of knocking her up aroused you immeasurably; but she stops you before you can continue fucking her, "Hey! Let it settle in me, how is the sperm supposed to reach me if you keep fucking it out of me? Why don't we switch holes for a little bit," Lisa smirks as she feels your manhood become nearly as stiff as it had been at the start, "Yes baby brother, you can use my asshole as much as you like!" You groan as urgently mount your older sister's tight asshole, you fucking love your sister, Lalisa!

Lisa purrs contently as she strokes her younger brother's hair as he sleeps soundly upon her tender breasts, his semen drying inside both of her holes. The familiar ache of her over-used body soothes her, she hadn't expected her sibling to have as voracious a sexual appetite as her, but she had certainly enjoyed it. But as his big sister, she still had some work to do while her dear boy peacefully slumbered, so humming quietly to herself, she gets to work. First she informs her friends of her success, Jihyo is already enthusiastically hoping her egg gets fertilized, while Nayeon is frothing at the mouth with jealousy for such a spectacular deflowering. Next she uses her brother's phone to send his girlfriend some select clips from the recording she had made of their coupling (Her brother could be so oblivious sometimes, how did he not notice her phone pointing at them the entire time!), cheerfully informing her what happened as well as telling her that she expected at least five nieces and nephews to spoil rotten. An hour later, his phone pings, and she enjoys a minute-long video of the "pure and innocent" girl squirting wildly to the sight of her boyfriend fucking his sister; no doubt she would be getting pumped full of cum within an hour of the couple reuniting. Finally, Lisa muses upon the enormity of what she had just done, she had forced herself upon her own brother, and engaged in depravedly incestous sex with him, oh and there was a very slight chance she might be carrying his baby as well. She was sopping wet at the thought of doing it again and again for the next week.

Lisa was looking forward to not leaving their room for the rest of the trip...

#smut #kpop smut #blackpink smut #lisa smut #Lalisa smut #Lisa fanfic

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chrollogy · 3 months ago

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THE COST OF DEVOTION | chrollo lucilfer x f!reader

synopsis: When Chrollo Lucilfer is assigned to go undercover, and kill a billionaire’s daughter, he finds himself breaking the most sacred rule of the underworld—that there should be no feelings involved. The consequences of his actions backs Chrollo into a corner where he has to choose between fulfilling the job or following his heart at a risky price.

18+ MDNI; undercover assassin!chrollo, bodyguard!chrollo, billionaire’s daughter!reader, loosely follows some canon events (chrollo’s past), reader is referred to as ‘miss’, DARK CONTENT, DARK ROMANCE, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort (no happy ending), explicit smut, SLOW BURN, major character death, touches on arranged marriage, cheating, killing, money laundering, human trafficking, kidnapping, sacrilege & blood (briefly), gun use, chrollo struggles with feelings, chrollo has scars, OCs mentioned, not beta read.

word count: 18.6k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. ITS HERE !! thank u to @ljubimaya & @avatarofstars for supporting me throughout the writing process and for being such amazing friends :3 this is different from my usual fics + super self indulgent so enjoy. feedbacks & thoughts are much appreciated ><

Loud music, enough to make one’s chest thump, annoying bright strobe lights, and the sea of intoxicated bodies that passionately danced with one another without a care in the world, Chrollo wanted out. He observed the luxury club with a subtle scowl, gaze sharp enough to tear one’s throat as he watched the spoiled, and rich carelessly sway to the beat of the music—you were one of them.

A privileged affluent businessman’s daughter who didn’t know how to handle one’s wealth so she resorts to spending nights swiping her card for overpriced drinks, and whatever expensive shit the club had to offer.

Meanwhile, the lower class had to work themselves to near death to be able to provide for their families. One, two, three jobs just to make ends meet—just to pay rent, just to bring food to the table even if it meant working for the underworld.

That was where Chrollo fell into the spectrum; fortunate enough to live but unfortunate enough to live a cruel life in an equally cruel world. He grew up learning how to steal, fight, and kill while you grew up having maids cook every meal, a solid roof over your head, and generational wealth to spend.

It made Chrollo sick to his stomach how wealthy kids like you could just take, take, and take yet had the audacity to complain about their lives as if society didn’t favour them at all. He could go on, and on about this whole ordeal but at the end of the day, no one would even bat an eye, plus, he had a job to do—technically, two jobs.

At the heart of the sweaty, inebriated club, you stood there beneath the neon strobe lights, it bounced off the strands of your hair like a colourful aura mirroring your careless joy. Body perfectly swaying to the beat of the music, a half-full glass of a sweet cocktail, and a blissful expression on your face; maybe if the circumstances were different Chrollo would have smiled at your blithe spirit but it wasn’t.

Your eyes—a drunken haze—found his own to which you immediately acknowledged with a cheery wave of your free hand.

It only took a split second for Chrollo to mask the obvious scowl on his face with a sickly saccharine smile—one that made his gut twist with disgust—he returned the gesture with a dip of his chin paired with raising a glass of water in the air as if to make a toast. Chrollo’s expression fell the minute you turned away, unceremoniously slouching back into the leathered booth you’ve booked beforehand, he let out a deep sigh, and rubbed at his temples.

Two weeks

It had only been two weeks since your father—Chrollo’s employer—hired him as your personal bodyguard, and as expected, extensive pre-screening was a must before one could securely acquire said role which Chrollo found extremely bothersome despite its lack of difficulty. Though this wasn’t a rare occurrence, it only made sense for the rich to hire a skilled bodyguard to protect oneself from unknown dangers.

Obviously, he didn’t apply to be your personal bodyguard for sincere reasons—far from it, actually; Chrollo was here for a task that would land him his heftiest pay yet, even just thinking about made his head spin with immeasurable happiness already but Chrollo figured he’d bask in filthy money after completing the job. He always did.

If anything, this should be a walk in the park for him considering there was nothing more satisfying than seeing the demise of a wealthy brat. But for now, he’d take it slow, and earn your trust ‘til the right time comes; where his mask falls, and true motives come to light.

Where the last thing the assassin would receive from you was a look of pure horror much like his previous targets. Would you beg for him to spare your life like others did? Or would you sit in complete shock, words lodged deep inside your throat?

These thoughts immediately dissipated at the call of his name; a few feet away, you stumbled your way towards the booth, the highball glass tucked in your hand was now empty with only half melted ice cubes remaining. Chrollo stood up, wrapping a firm arm around your back, helping you regain balance before guiding you to the leathered seat, the fabric cool against your feverish skin.

“Should I call the chauffeur, miss?” Chrollo feigned worry. His stature loomed over your sitting figure, back lit with red neon strobe lights, giving him a deep crimson glow. You stared at him longer than necessary before responding with a small nod; the wild atmosphere, paired with your spinning vision seemed like a good enough hint to head home, and retire for the night.

At your agreement, Chrollo let out a big mental sigh of relief—he may be an adept assassin but sitting idly for hours while watching his asset drink the night away exhausted his patience more than one could imagine.

The ride back to the estate was all a drunken haze for you, though, you recalled a brief exchange of words between Chrollo, and your chauffeur as the latter helped you inside the vehicle before, they seemed to get along swimmingly despite the former only being a new addition to your personal staff. Albeit, that description might be a bit too generous, maybe it was just your drunk self thinking but nonetheless, you appreciated the courteous manner between the two.

“Lukas?”

You called out to the chauffeur, he donned a formal attire just like Chrollo—a black tailored suit—he was an old-timer who had been your father’s previous chauffeur before you were born. It was safe to say you’ve learned a lot from him growing up, and maybe even served more as a father figure than your biological one.

“Yes, miss?” Lukas glanced briefly at the rear-view mirror. “Chrollo . . He’s nice, isn’t he?”

The older man could only chuckle in response, letting your words soak into the darkness of the vehicle before nodding, “He’s a promising young lad.” He glanced at the mirror once again, this time letting his gaze linger on you, headlights from the vehicle Chrollo drove behind poured into the backseat, and illuminated your face; Lukas didn’t know if it was due to your drunken state or from pure sincerity but the subtle smile on your face somewhat warmed his heart.

He took a mental note that you seemed to be quite fond of your new bodyguard.

After safely reaching the estate, and escorting you inside, Chrollo made his way to the staff house. Walking past the wooden double doors, he was stopped in his tracks by a familiar voice, “Off to bed, Chrollo?” It was Lukas, your chauffeur; he sat on one of the crimson couches, one hand nursing a cup of hot coffee.

Chrollo stared at the old man’s face behind the wisps of steam from the drink, the latter donned a rather pleased look on his face, he thought nothing of it, and nodded, “And yourself?”

Lukas returned the nod, “A little later for me.”

Silence occupied the living room for a moment. Chrollo could’ve left the conversation at that but instead, he stood there, feet rooted on the wooden floor, sensing that Lukas had more to say but was debating on it.

Seeing as he didn’t want to waste any more time, Chrollo spoke up “Is there something else you’d like to say?” His voice cut through the quiet atmosphere, he had now angled his body towards the older man. Lukas set the mug atop the coffee table before giving him his full attention, “The young miss seems to have taken a liking to you.”

Chrollo didn’t know how to react to that—even if he did, he wouldn’t have let on.

At his silence, Lukas invited himself to speak further, “At times, she can be quite a handful . . but hearing her speak positively of you warms my heart. What I’m trying to say is, please take good care of the young miss, it means a lot for her to say such things about you.”

Trust? Good.

Chrollo’s rosy lips stretched into a genuine smile, “I will. Thank you.” And with that, he excused himself before heading to his room, the soles of his obsidian shoes produced no noise with each step. He wasn’t happy because you seemed to like him, no, Chrollo was happy because you trusted him so easily—probably the biggest mistake you’ve made.

Though, nothing would really change if you didn’t trust him, either way, you’d meet your demise no matter what.

As the new week rolled around, it was no surprise that Chrollo had already memorised your weekly routine—without a doubt, you spent days in the office but he had noted other destinations you frequented.

On Mondays, you visited a cosy flower boutique in the morning, owned by a lovely old florist who’s cheeks were as pink as the camellias neatly displayed on the counter next to her. You only bought one type of flower—white chrysanthemums, a dozen, to be exact; they were carefully wrapped in a simple brown paper, and topped off with an ivory satin ribbon.

On the way back to the car, Chrollo wondered why you chose these specific flowers, and upon asking, you simply replied with:

‘White chrysanthemums symbolise devoted love, and loyalty—something we need more of in this world, don’t you think?’

How ironic. He had no knowledge about flowers but he always thought white chrysanthemums meant death, specifically a symbol of mourning, and grief—a flower fit for one’s grave yet you displayed them in a vase to bring life into your room.

If you were being completely honest, chrysanthemums didn’t hold any significance in your life; one day you decided to visit the flower boutique run by the old lady, and she had told you all about the flower. Oddly enough, you started to grow fond of it.

Chrysanthemums were awfully common in his hometown—Meteor City—and not in a good way; inhabited by untraceable outcasts, it was the perfect hunting ground for illegal activities such as human trafficking, as well as an endless source of disposable hitmen, and assassins like Chrollo himself.

Due to mass abductions, and murders of the people, chrysanthemums were laid out at the church for each victim; he could clearly remember walking down the aisle, a smell so sweet, and minty filled the thick atmosphere. For an aroma so pleasant, who would’ve thought it was associated with such sorrow?

On Tuesdays, you attended your private pilates lesson at 8 AM on the dot which lasted a little under an hour. As usual, Chrollo stayed idly by the entrance of the studio, just at the foyer as the muffled voice of your instructor seeped from under the closed door; this was usually paired with brunch at a local café after, as per your words, ‘a much needed caffeine break’ whatever that meant. He couldn’t care less, he was too busy assessing the layout of the building for an escape route, and potential threats as though he wasn’t the biggest threat here.

The window seat offered a clear view of the street outside, vehicles driving by, people in their own little world as they headed to their destination; not to mention the ample morning sunlight that poured in, allowing you to study Chrollo’s reflection from the glass.

He stood behind you with his back facing the window, scanning the entire café; you watched as his head slowly moved from left to right, then right to left, giving you a peek of his side profile. Your eyes traced every dip, and curve of Chrollo’s face, from the slope of his nose, all the way to the sharpness of his jawline. It was odd how this man—who barely talked to you unless necessary—had piqued your interest. In what way? That was something you were still trying to figure out.

How Chrollo carried himself with silent confidence stood out from the rest of your security team; sure, he was vigilant of his surroundings but each action he displayed was calculated, and clean—too clean. You’ve also noticed how his steps were much lighter than everyone else’s, it made almost no sound as though he was actively stalking a prey. And for a brief moment, you wondered who that prey was.

On Wednesdays, you were present at your father’s company for the whole day. Though, the scowl on your face clearly screamed your opposition; it wasn’t a secret to anyone how uninterested you were in all the business talk—in fact, if anyone were to ask about it, you could probably go on, and on about how boring, and tedious it was, conversely, if asked what you wanted to do in life, you’d probably have a hard time answering.

Alas, as the sole heir, the company automatically fell to your hands whether you liked it or not. Wednesdays were always a drag, having to make acquaintances with investors, and show face during monotonous meetings that rarely concerned you—you’d rather spend time elsewhere.

On Thursdays, you were also at the company but for a different reason. Chrollo only knew you reported straight to your father’s office, and he was often ordered to wait at the ground floor. The meeting with your father always took approximately two hours, and each time, you came out looking like someone had pressed all your buttons.

Though today, for the sake of Chrollo’s own selfish curiosity, seeing as the hallway was deserted, he lingered outside the office for a bit but all he really got was pure silence—either you, and your father conversed in a hushed voice or the walls were soundproof. Whatever the case was, Chrollo didn’t bother sticking around but he was quickly stopped in his tracks as voices from inside were suddenly raised—yours first, followed by your father.

Looking back at the office door, Chrollo heard you shout in opposition, it seemed like the conversation had somewhat turned into a heated argument. Nonetheless, he continued down the hallway—it was none of Chrollo’s business, after all.

“No! I’ve already told you, I’m not doing that!” Loud voice sliced through the growing tension inside the room. The older male—who sat behind his desk—leaned back into the seat, leather groaning beneath his weight as he rubbed his temples at your stubbornness, clearly displeased with how much you were blowing everything out of proportion. You stayed rooted in your spot, just standing a metre away from your father.

“Look, darling, I’ve already agreed—” “Agreed without my consent.” Raising your hands in defeat, you paced around the room, each heavy step muffled by the crimson carpet beneath your soles. “I’m the one getting married to someone I haven’t met! I never even wanted to be in an arranged marriage just because of what—a stupid business partnership?!”

This was the first time you’ve raised your voice at your father; all the years under his care, and guidance, you gladly accepted what was left upon your hands. Continuing the legacy of your father’s company? Sure, no problem, you could deal the burden on your shoulders but marrying a complete stranger?

That was more than crossing a mere boundary.

Your father was a skilled business man, and you never doubted that once—he was excellent at negotiating, and closing deals so for him to stoop as low as agreeing with an arranged marriage for the sake of his company, it baffled you, a lot. What more could he possibly want?

“I’m done with this conversation.”

Letting out a breath you’ve been holding, you turned around, and headed for the door but before reaching the silver handle, your father spoke up from behind, “Next week. You’re attending the corporate event with Euan. That’s final.” All you could do was nod.

Chrollo spotted your rather distressed figure exit the elevator, and head for the car park, not so much sparing a glance as you passed him; nonetheless, he quietly trailed you, steely gaze observing your figure up, and down—shoulders tight, and fists clenched at your side.

You felt defeated.

The thought of spending the rest of your life with a man you didn’t genuinely love, was that really your so-called future? A bond made for the sole purpose of expanding business?

Stepping into the underground car park, you stopped in your tracks, the automatic glass door silently humming as it closed behind you. Naturally, Chrollo did the same but didn’t dare speak up. Click clack. Two clicks from the soles of your shoes as you turned to face your bodyguard with a deflated expression, he could only raise a brow in surprise before you sat on your haunches, and buried your face inside the hearts of your palms.

Oh.

One, two, three seconds—it took Chrollo exactly three seconds to register the sight before him, and he didn’t know what to do; awkwardness settled in the air between the two of you as you sobbed into your hands. He moved closer—taking a few cautious steps as though he walked on eggshells—and squatted down to your level, “Miss?” He called out, his dulcet voice drowned by your soft whimpers, every muscle in Chrollo’s body was stiff, movements unsure.

What was he supposed to do? Reach out, and stroke your hair? Pull you close against his chest? Chrollo was more than sure that doing so was completely unprofessional on his end. So, he was reduced to sitting next to you, silently watching your shoulders shake with each muffled sob until you finally decided to lift your head, “I apologise for acting this way. I’m certain you probably don’t care but—”

Correct. Chrollo did not care.

“My father has been pushing me in an arranged marriage. I kept saying ‘no’ until he went behind my back, and agreed to it. I found out today and I just—I lost it. The benefits of what comes after marriage are endless for the company; more investors, more money, more security but is that really worth sacrificing my shot at finding the one I truly love?”

Saying the words aloud made it sound so silly. Finding your one true love, how naïve, that only happened in children’s fairy tales.

Upon learning the reason for your upset, Chrollo could only nod, he wasn’t the type to console anyone, let alone his employer’s daughter. The last time he could remember doing so was almost a decade, and a half ago during the time his dear friend—Sarasa—went missing.

It was a rainy day in Meteor City, Chrollo remembered hugging his friends tightly, reassuring them that everything was going to be alright even though uncertainty gnawed at his skin.

He was innocent, and didn’t know better then.

But the incident with Sarasa was what fuelled his pure hatred for the wealthy. Chrollo was only a kid, full of limitless joy, and hope despite growing up in poverty. It was during the height of abductions in Meteor City, and that was when he learned that not even his friends were immune from illegal activities after seeing it with his own eyes.

It was broad daylight, and Sarasa had been forced into a car by two large men—as if one wasn’t enough to take a helpless little girl. The worst part was, Chrollo could only stand, and watch as his friend got taken away with nothing but helpless tears in his eyes, and a blazing anger that burned a thousand suns.

He could still recall the way his nails dug into the hearts of his palms, the temporary pain it felt. The incident haunted his coming days, hearing Sarasa’s screams at night, and how she begged for the men to spare her life.

Chrollo overheard from the Elders that the ones behind illegal abductions were the wealthy, and that night, he made a promise to avenge Sarasa—even if it meant taking lives. It was clear the rich were parasites of the world, greedy for money, and power, leaving none behind for the unfortunate.

Chrollo couldn’t bring himself to understand your situation, and emotions—he didn’t have to but some odd part made him want to.

From Fridays to Sundays, you usually spent the time out with friends but as the days came, you remained cooped up inside your room, and only came out unless necessary. The thought of isolating yourself somewhat ate away at Chrollo, despite not being able to fully grasp your situation, he figured it must have been a breaking point for you, and deep down, for some weird reason, he was worried.

This was the first time you’ve shown him an emotion other than happiness—which he presumed was most likely out of professionalism—so seeing your distressed state had him rather curious.

Stationed just outside the doors to your room, Chrollo couldn’t do anything to quench the sparked interest inside him—guarding the entrance of your room was all there was to do which ended up with him drowning in his thoughts while standing idly. Even though Chrollo didn’t understand your sentiment, he knew no one should marry a stranger for the sake of business.

Though, Chrollo didn’t have much time to ponder about your situation as his replacement came walking up the stairs meaning it was the end of his shift for the day. He entertained a brief exchange with his co-worker before heading out.

Walking down the stone path that led to the deserted flower garden, Chrollo dug into the inside pocket of his blazer, and took out a burner phone. As the assassin dialled a number, he was greeted with a view of endless greenery decorated with bright hues from a variety of flowers; the floral aroma wrapped around his body like a fluffy blanket. Somehow, the sweet scent reminded Chrollo of you.

The cheap phone rang once, twice ‘til a familiar voice spilled through its speakers, “I’m guessing you’re here to update me?” The male on the other side of the call questioned. Chrollo agreed, and the line went silent, urging him to give the details.

As he gave a thorough update, Chrollo mindlessly walked down the stone path, various colours making its way to his line of vision. Though, a particular flower caught his eye—a sea of yellow as bright as the morning rays decorated several bushes on the ground. While speaking into the phone, Chrollo squatted down to its level, and examined the delicate flower, Bird’s foot trefoil, the small ivory signage before it read.

Two months, that was the amount of time given to complete the job. It was reasonable enough with the amount of security you were surrounded with, and even though Chrollo was the only bodyguard you took whenever you left the house, Lukas remained by your side as well—he made sure not to underestimate the old timer.

Chrollo had never heard of this man before but from what he knew, he seemed to be about the same age. Why the man was seeking out revenge by targeting your life was also something that remained a mystery—after all, Chrollo was only there to kill, details weren’t necessary when it came to an assassin.

“‘M not gonna tell you how to do your job but remember, time is ticking, and I’m spending a whole lot of money on this, yeah?”

Voicing his agreement before ending the call, he took one last look at the flower, and stood up, heading for the staff house.

It was about time Chrollo hunted for his prey.

With the new week, everyone prepared for the corporate event in a few hours—even Chrollo himself, as well as the rest of the security team was busy scouting the venue, and looking for any potential threats around, and inside the building.

Tonight, he donned a sleek, all black look which was slightly different from the usual white button down, and black suit he wore.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, employees, and important investors began pouring in the building; the inside boasted a formal theme with a lavish teardrop crystal chandelier that mimicked the shine of a thousand diamonds, round tables were draped in ivory cloths which housed a bunch of butterfly pea flowers encased in sleek ceramic vases.

Silence was replaced with melodic laughter, and casual conversations between acquaintances, and co-workers as the vast room was slowly filled with more people.

Having arrived at the venue earlier, Chrollo stood by the entrance, waiting for your arrival. As the familiar vehicle rolled around, Lukas exited the vehicle, and opened the rear passenger door.

Expecting you to come out of the vehicle, Chrollo was caught slightly off-guard when a stranger clad in a navy blue tuxedo did so instead—he donned obsidian strands that carefully framed his handsome face, and piercing honeyed eyes that was sure to make any woman swoon.

The assassin watched as he turned to face the vehicle, and held out a hand to you. Taking up on the polite offer, you held his hand, and gracefully stepped out of the vehicle. And there you were, in all your serene beauty, skin glowing beneath the warm streetlights that made Chrollo inhale a sharp breath for some odd reason.

“Thank you, Euan.” You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Euan? Chrollo thought.

With how he lovingly kissed the back of your hand, and from the way you forced a smile, it wasn’t hard to piece together that this was the man you were forced to marry. Somehow, Chrollo felt a tinge of annoyance spark within the depths of his chest—maybe because he was aware of the whole arranged marriage situation or maybe because he was yet in the presence of another stuck up, pompous spoiled person.

Euan interlaced his fingers with yours before heading towards the entrance, Chrollo didn’t miss the way the diamond ring on your finger twinkled like stars in the night sky. Surprisingly, Euan acknowledged Chrollo with a dip of his chin; you mirrored your date’s action, and only then did the assassin respond in the same way.

The event was boring as one would have expected, your father—the CEO—mostly talked about the company’s milestones up on the podium, he held a champagne flute in one hand filled with golden liquid while entertaining the room with uneventful accomplishments. Though, what you didn’t expect tonight was for your father to openly reveal your arranged marriage with Euan in front of your subordinates, and investors,

“It’s my pleasure to announce that the COO of D&J—my daughter—is soon to be wed with Mr. Euan Heston from Heston Enterprises.”

As endless applause, and supportive smiles filled the venue, you sat frozen on your seat, unable to muster even the tiniest smile. From the corner of your vision, you could see Euan bashfully nodding his head, and shaking hands with those in neighbouring tables as they congratulated him. You stared at your father in complete disdain which only prompted a forced smile from him.

Unbelievable.

A shaky breath escaped your lips before swallowing the raging emotions, pushing them down, down, down to the depths of your core, and as though a switch inside you was flipped, a smile stretched across your face, throwing out thank you’s to those who offered their support.

With the end of the CEO’s speech, and certain formalities, all that’s left was to mix, and mingle with everyone else which—thankfully—Euan did while you quietly sneaked away to the open bar. Although, visibly drowning yourself in more champagne only invited more guests to come, and gush about the weighted ring on your finger, not to mention how openly they adored Euan.

Hearing such high praise thrown his way, you caught yourself staring at your soon-to-be husband; you watched as he gracefully waltzed from table to table, engaging in polite conversations with not only the important people in the room but also with your subordinates.

Euan was well-mannered, kind, and respectful—he was everything your father wanted as your husband but he wasn’t made for you, and deep down, you knew that.

From the corner of the room, Chrollo watched it all unfold. From the way you stiffened beneath everyone’s stares as your father revealed the marriage, all the way to your gaze finding Euan amongst the crowd. He felt weird.

Albeit subtle, Chrollo sensed it was there—as though a foreign seed had been planted in his chest waiting for it to grow, and destroy him from inside out. Whether it produced the fruit of anger, revenge or some other emotion in the dictionary, he couldn’t tell, all he knew was it took root inside his heart.

As Chrollo got lost in his thoughts for a bit, he was greeted with an empty barstool that was previously occupied by you; he scanned the vast room, stone cold eyes darting from left to right, and right to left trying to catch a glimpse of your familiar figure.

Slight panic didn’t settle in until Chrollo realised that you were nowhere to be seen—the feeling began to gnaw at his very bones as the attempts of finding your whereabouts led to a dead end, he even went as far as asking a woman standing just outside the bathroom if she’s seen you walk in but only shook her head.

Wide, panicked steps, Chrollo unceremoniously crossed the room in search of you while almost bumping into several guests in a nervous haze; he muttered out whispered apologies, gaze remaining ahead. His heart thumped loudly against his ears, serving as a mere distraction to throw off his already breaking composure.

God, your father would absolutely kill him if he were to find out that he’d lost sight of you.

But Chrollo wasn’t scared of that, not even an ounce of fear in his body at the thought of your father’s wrath, instead, he worried for your safety; the more minutes passed without a trace of you, the more frustration consumed every fibre of him.

The only option left was to check the balcony.

With a bated breath, he opened the sliding door, a gentle, cool breeze of the night greeted him like a welcome hug. His gaze scanned the open area which—thankfully—landed on your familiar figure, you stood there, leaning against the metal railing while looking up at the obsidian skies.

Relief briefly washed over Chrollo as he let out a sigh but this feeling was soon replaced with red, hot anger.

He stalked over to where you stood, each step heavy with annoyance, “Where have you been? I was looking all over for you! Don’t run off like that.”

The ever calm, and collected bodyguard coming for your neck with such ferocity caught you off guard, not to mention the obvious bite in his tone. With furrowed brows, you turned to face Chrollo, a look of disbelief painted on your face. The audacity of this man. Who the hell was he to boss you around as though you were his subordinate?

“That’s ‘miss’ for you—” You crossed your arms, head slightly tilted upwards as you looked down at him from your nose.

“And relax, Chrollo. I’m not harmed. I don’t see what the fuss is about.” You were absolutely right, and Chrollo hated that you were because he didn’t know where else to channel his anger, if anything, your words doused the flame inside his chest with gasoline, allowing it to expand, and burn an azure fire.

Despite his better judgement, Chrollo let it consume him, “Relax? I’m your bodyguard, it’s my duty to keep you safe, and out of danger! What if something happens to you, and I’m not around, hm?”

Chrollo felt the foreign seed inside his chest grow into uncertainty—an odd feeling he’s never felt before. Speaking out like this, and losing his cool over a situation was out of character for him but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to stop, as though words willingly flew out of his throat, and out into the open.

“Exactly, you’re only a bodyguard. You have no right to act this way towards me. Have you forgotten I’m not your equal?” You retorted, dishing out the same amount of ferocity he had given you.

Initially, you were going to let the whole thing slide, it was understandable where Chrollo was coming from—he was only doing his job—but it pissed you off seeing as how he had the audacity to act like that.

You looked up at the taller man, gaze not backing down from his steely ones; it took him a couple of seconds to hold your stare before breaking it, and looking off to the dark horizon. Though, you swore you saw his eyes subtly dip down for a split second before doing so—you weren’t too sure, maybe it was the darkness playing tricks.

You were right. Chrollo was only a bodyguard, so did he cross the line? The unclear answer made him all the more furious but for now, he’d have to settle for the explanation that he’s your bodyguard, and he has the right to worry about your safety. Even if Chrollo himself didn’t entirely believe this reason.

“You’re right. I apologise for crossing any boundaries, miss.”

Chrollo stationed himself near the sliding door, offering you space to enjoy the quiet night in peace. Now, you felt kind of bad for raising your voice at him when he clearly showed nothing but concern; you chalked it up to the stress your father weighed upon you tonight—the decision to tell everyone about the marriage, Euan being your date for tonight, the engagement ring that wrapped around your finger.

It was clear that Chrollo was still bothered about the whole thing, you could see it from the way his jaw tightened, and the subtle crease between his brows. Whatever. You’ll deal with it later.

A petty argument. That was it. But why did it have Chrollo all worked up? Why was he extremely bothered about it? Hell, where was that useless fiancé of yours, and why wasn’t he looking after you? Questions swirled in his mind, chaotic, and uncertain—now, Chrollo was really wondering why he was acting this way. In his twenty-six years of living, never had he felt this feeling before, it stemmed from his chest, blooming across his body, and consuming him in an unpleasant, foreign way.

The feeling stayed rooted inside even until reaching the estate where he stood guarding the door to your room.

Chrollo rubbed his forefinger, and thumb together while staring at the marbled tiles beneath his feet, it was past midnight now, and the only sound heard was the thumping of his own heart—the rhythmic beat that somewhat got louder with each passing minute.

He was soon reeled back into reality at the sound of the door opening behind him. Stepping out of your room, Chrollo watched as the darkness unclasped your body from its confines; he quickly averted his gaze at your vulnerable state—clad in a flimsy ivory nightgown that stopped just below the knees with satin ribbon straps comfortably sitting on your shoulders. He felt it was rather inappropriate seeing you in such an attire.

“Ahem. Anything you need, miss?” Chrollo coughed into his fist, staring at the darkness behind you instead of holding the gaze thrown his way.

Letting out a sigh, you replied, “I think I need to clear my head a bit . . Care to join me for a night drive? That way you’ll know my whereabouts.” The end of your sentence had a tinge of bitterness laced with it but Chrollo shrugged it off, it’d be no use trying to pick up where the two of you left off earlier.

“I take it as a yes, then? Meet me at the garage.” With that, you walked down the stairs, the thin fabric of your nightgown swaying with each step taken.

Chrollo quickly headed to the staff house to grab the keys to his assigned vehicle. Making his way to the door, he immediately stopped in his tracks as a sudden idea popped into mind—the gun hidden beneath his pillows.

Chrollo stared at his bed before swiftly lifting the ivory pillow, revealing a pistol given to him upon acquiring the bodyguard role. Without a word, he tucked it inside the holster beneath the obsidian blazer he donned, and walked out of the bedroom, heading for the garage.

Disappearing into the night, an odd feeling engulfed Chrollo—he wondered whether the gun on his hip portrayed him as your bodyguard or as your assassin.

Something he has never thought about before because it had always been the latter, regardless of the situation. Nonetheless, the weapon felt awfully heavy hanging onto him—as though it was a great burden that took an even greater effort to get rid of.

The drive was awkward, and there was no set destination; the only instruction you gave Chrollo was to keep driving, and he did, without questions asked. The only sound that filled the vehicle was the low humming of the engine which lulled you further into your thoughts, warm streetlights would illuminate the inside which allowed Chrollo to sneak brief glances at you through the rearview mirror. He didn’t want to pry but it was clear you were overwhelmed with a lot of things.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology caught Chrollo off guard, stone cold gaze looking through the mirror to meet your own for a split second. “Miss?” He furrowed his brows. “For earlier. I said some harsh words as well, and you were only doing your job. So, I apologise.” Now, it was your turn to steal glances through the rearview mirror. Chrollo’s expression remained unchanged—most likely trying to find an appropriate answer.

He shook his head, fully aware you peered at him through the mirror, “It’s no big deal . . It wasn’t my place to raise my voice. As you said earlier, I’m just a bodyguard.” Chrollo’s eyes remained on the road ahead, enveloped by the night, he didn’t know why it suddenly became hard to glance through the mirror—maybe it was the unmistakable knowledge that you’d be staring straight back.

Was he nervous?

Impossible. There was no such emotion in his dictionary.

“It’s just—the whole announcing the marriage with Euan in front of all the guests stressed me out. The marriage is set in stone without my permission, and I just feel so helpless . .” You watched the outside view go by, dull colours of the night blending into a blurry haze.

“I know the arrangement has benefits. I know that.” It was directed more to yourself than Chrollo, as though some part of you agreed with the marriage.

“Euan is . . He’s sweet—a kind soul but I cannot see myself loving him, spending the rest of my life with him.” The assassin gripped the wheel a little tighter at the mention of your fiancé. “I don’t think anyone should ever go through that.” He cleared his throat, stealing another glance at you.

“You mentioned a while ago—” Chrollo spoke up, deciding to deviate the topic from Euan. “That the marriage would benefit the company ‘more security’ . .” He trailed off, realising how he’s prying but you didn’t seem to mind with how openly you replied.

“Long story short, my father had a very close friend—Mr. Driscoll—in the industry. It was later revealed that he was involved in money laundering so most of his assets came from illegal dealings. My father played a significant role in his arrest—basically, Driscoll was stupid enough to tell my father of his underground ties, urging him to do it as well. But my father had tipped the police instead. Naturally, his son, Ciaran Driscoll—who’s now the CEO of the company—saw us in a bad light, and it won’t take long until he makes my father pay for the damages done.”

“The arranged marriage with Euan would obviously combine our security team with theirs which would decrease the chances of Ciaran, and any other dangers from getting near my father, and I.”

Yet Chrollo was here—an assassin tasked to kill you—who easily took on the role of your personal bodyguard.

How ironic.

You really did need that extra security from the Hestons.

“Ciaran Driscoll?” Chrollo muttered the name under his breath which you quickly caught onto. “Yeah. Ciaran Driscoll from Driscoll Pharmaceuticals, you know him?” He wouldn’t necessarily say he knew him but Chrollo was awfully familiar with the name—familiar enough to conclude that Ciaran was the one who hired him to kill you.

Despite meeting at a deserted location back then—nowhere near that gave any hints of Ciaran’s real identity—one of his subordinates had addressed him by his last name which Chrollo immediately picked up.

The pieces fit flawlessly. It made sense for Ciaran to get revenge for Mr. Driscoll’s arrest by targeting what your father held most dear in his life—you. And for that to happen, Chrollo was the middle man, the one to fuel the chaos between two families.

If he got the job done.

“No.” Chrollo lied. “Just thought the last name rang a bell.”

“Understandable, they’re a household name. Well, it used to be.”

Short silence filled the vehicle yet again, both left to their own thoughts before you spoke up, albeit, it was more of thinking aloud, “I truly don’t know what I want in life.” Odd. Chrollo always thought that if one was wealthy, they’d be able to wish for anything, and everything yet somehow, even with all the gold in your hands, you were still lost.

Chrollo pitied you, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

Hell, he didn’t even know whether it was appropriate to reply. What did he know? He was someone born into poverty who didn’t have the luxury to question himself about what he wanted in life, just having to see another was already a blessing itself. Well, it wasn’t like the outcasts of society were given a choice on how to lead one’s life anyway.

The car fell in another silence but this time it was much longer, long enough for Chrollo to glance at the rearview mirror to see your eyes closed, and head leaning against the window, the rhythmic rise, and fall of your chest indicating the slumber you were in.

It was almost laughable how Chrollo was able to prove his theory right—that the rich were greedy for an even greater amount of money, the obvious example was the ex-CEO of Driscoll Pharmaceuticals, Ciaran’s father.

Chrollo’s grip on the wheel tightened, leather burning against his palms at the mere thought of dirty business. Illegal dealings. It was possible he had a hand in Sarasa's kidnapping. Mr. Driscoll didn’t belong in jail, no, he belonged before the barrel of Chrollo’s gun.

Taking another glance at your sleeping form, Chrollo quietly pulled over to the side of the road, putting the car in park before twisting his torso to face you. Warm streetlights casted a gentle glow upon your features, piercing grey eyes carefully tracing each one as though you were a divine creature—otherworldly, and beautiful.

You looked so peaceful, and undisturbed. Vulnerable.

While his eyes remained on you, Chrollo slowly slid a hand inside his blazer, reaching for the gun affixed by his hip.

The assassin pulled it out, pointing the barrel to your head, the weapon cool against the warmth of his hand. In, and out, he drew steady breaths, forefinger hovering over the trigger—one pull, and it’d be over.

The problem was, Chrollo couldn’t do it.

He has pulled the trigger countless times as though it was second nature, so why couldn’t he do it now? He couldn’t even bring himself to let his digit touch it.

As you stirred in your sleep, Chrollo swiftly tucked the gun back in his holster, and faced forward. Shaky, uneven breaths slipped past his parted lips, the sound of his heartbeat clouding his senses.

Hands balling into fists, he wondered what had gotten into him, mind racing with a million thoughts as he drowned in pure uncertainty. Chrollo stared at his hands—the same hands that have spilled blood countless times, the same hands that killed without a second thought, the same hands that were tasked to murder you.

Yet here he was, unable to do so as if it were his first time.

“Chrollo?” You mumbled aloud. As you peeled your eyes open, you tried to register your surroundings. “Why did we stop? Is there something wrong?”

He cleared his throat, taking a quick glance through the rearview mirror before shaking his head, “No, miss. I just had to take a quick call, my apologies.” With that, Chrollo pulled away from the side of the road, taking you back to the estate.

The ride home was silent. Fortunately for Chrollo, this gave him the opportunity to calm his thoughts, and steady his growing breaths.

Obviously this has never happened before, especially while out on a mission; it made sense for the assassin to lose his cool a bit after hesitating. If anything, it was akin to a bird suddenly losing the ability to fly when flying was the only thing it knew. To make things worse, Chrollo had just broken the unspoken rule of the underworld—to never hesitate.

To the underworld, hesitating meant fragility, and fragility meant that the enemy had the upper hand. He was confused, and conflicted, more so upset at himself for being such a coward—why was he a coward?

After returning to the estate, you softly called out to Chrollo who was heading to the staff house, “Do you want to come inside?” All it took was that foreign look in your face for him to fully understand what you meant.

He didn’t have to assume anything—you’ve never looked at Chrollo with such a burning gaze, full of intent, and vulnerability. God, it was a brazen move to do so but you wished he agreed. All you needed was a little company at the moment.

Something in the air shifted. Maybe it was because you were both stripped of your layers, baring your defenceless forms out in the open. Maybe it was the way Chrollo’s rational thinking became compromised on the way home. Or maybe it was how you oddly felt comfortable around his presence, as though he was a lifelong friend.

Nonetheless, Chrollo found himself inside your bedroom, and as expected, it was grand, spacious, fit for a billionaire’s daughter. Sweet aroma of fresh chrysanthemum’s filled the air but it was nothing like he had remembered back in Meteor City which was laced with grief, and sorrow. Instead, it enveloped Chrollo in a warm welcoming hug, he could finally understand your interpretation of chrysanthemums—devoted love, and loyalty.

Moonlight spilled from the windows, illuminating the side of Chrollo’s face. He was just standing there yet he mirrored the divinity of an angel as soft shadows contoured his handsome face, dark eyes gleaming beneath the dulcet glow; you’ve never been able to decipher the emotions behind his gaze but tonight was different, his stare was soft mixed with hint of uncertainty; Chrollo wore his heart on his sleeves.

“Help me escape even for a little while.”

Like the obedient bodyguard he was, he nodded. Chrollo took one step closer, reaching out a hand to gently undo one of the satin ribbon straps. The flimsy fabric gracefully slid off your right shoulder, just enough to expose your pert nipple. It hardened beneath the cool evening air which had Chrollo swallowing thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing with pure excitement, and hunger; oh, how he couldn’t wait to put his lips on your skin, and devour you.

Wasting no time to undo the other ribbon strap, your nightgown instantly fell to the carpeted floors, the fabric pooling around your feet, leaving you almost completely bare in front of Chrollo.

Your skin grew feverish beneath his observant stare as he traced every dip, and curve, dark eyes gleaming with anticipation. After a heartbeat or two, Chrollo’s lips were on your skin, palms finding home just above your waist; he placed gentle kisses down the side of your neck as though on a mission to mark you, pulling dainty gasps in the process.

You tasted absolutely divine—like a hopeful prayer between his lips, and he craved for more. Soft smacks slowly filled your ears as he praised you with kisses. Down, down, down Chrollo’s lips went before stopping at the junction of your neck, he gave the sensitive skin an experimental lick to which you responded with a heated gasp of his name.

Tilting your head to the side allowed more freedom for Chrollo to explore; hands coming up to tangle with his raven strands, and tug at it urged him to mark your skin with hues of dark purple, and red.

And he did. Gentle, wet kisses turned into rough, electric ones as Chrollo used both teeth, and tongue to nip, and suck at your skin.

“Chrollo—!”

The assassin could only grunt in response as he carved himself onto your skin like knife on wood—over, and over again ‘til it left a lasting mark. And when you stare at these sinful hues in the mirror, you’d be reminded of the feel of his lips, how his kisses turned your legs into a wobbly mess, and mind into a lustful haze.

Embarrassing, warm wetness pooled on the fabric of your panties as Chrollo neared your breasts, you watched with a bated breath, and keen eyes as he wrapped his lips around a mound—the sinful sight of Chrollo trying to take in as much of it as he could had your legs buckling, you were sure to have met the floor if it weren’t for his firm hold.

You let out a soft moan at the feel of his hot tongue swirling around your nipple, teeth gently grazing the sensitive spot which sent lightning down the length of your spine.

Eager hands tugged at the roots of his obsidian strands, nails raking across his scalp; it was beyond lewd how you readily pushed your bare body into Chrollo’s face—a man you’ve only known for less than a month yet here he was, wicked lips made of fire against your naked skin that melted like ice.

A large hand snaked its way up your front, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and pausing just beneath the other breast before cupping it wholly—the heart of his palm rubbing against your sensitive nipple as he massaged, and toyed with the fat.

Without an ounce of shame left in inside you, you wantonly moaned his name at the feel of his lips, and hand making love to your chest, it had Chrollo twitching in his slacks but he paid no mind to it because tonight was about ravishing your body until no one else could compare—not even Euan Heston.

Chrollo didn’t know what this meant for the both of you after but that was okay because once the night ends, your body would crave for none but him, and only him.

Chrollo let go of your swollen, wet breast with a soft pop, he looked up through his lashes before licking his lips, as though he just devoured the tastiest meal of his life.

Working his way down your torso, he placed chaste kisses down the valley of your breasts, steadily sinking to his knees as he descended further, each passing second growing closer to your heat—where you needed him the most.

Before Chrollo could kiss the intimate spot just below your belly button, you cupped his face, making him look up at you with slight confusion,

“On the bed . .”

Three words was all he needed to understand before standing to his full height, “Jump.” Chrollo ordered. You didn’t need to be told twice before doing so, arms, and legs wrapping around him while he supported your weight.

As Chrollo sauntered to the bed, you used the time to eagerly explore the spot beneath his ear, using teeth, and tongue to suck at it which pulled a few soft sighs from him. His intoxicating scent filled your senses, the sweet minty aroma from chrysanthemums mixed with his musky perfume had you groaning into his skin.

He shuddered at the feeling, the tips of his fingers digging further into the fat of your ass.

Gently laying you down on the pillows beneath, he stared at the serene beauty before him, steely eyes drinking in your nakedness. Chrollo’s stare felt like you stood directly under the blazing sun on a summer day, igniting your skin to the core without anywhere to take cover but you liked it, you liked the feeling of his hungry stare, how he looked at you like fresh meat on a silver platter—a predator, and his prey.

As if to put on a show, Chrollo hastily shrugged off his blazer, mindlessly throwing it on the floor, leaving him with a white button down. He caught a glimpse of your lust-clouded gaze staring at the gun affixed to his hip to which he immediately removed by unclasping the holster.

The weapon landed on the floor with a heavy thud, you paid no mind to it but for Chrollo, it served as a harsh reminder of his real motive, and everything that would happen tonight was nothing but an insignificant moment in his life.

At least that's what he convinced himself this was.

The mattress groaned beneath Chrollo’s weight as he dipped down, wasting no time to connect his lips on your bare skin, and picking up where he left off—right below your belly button.

He kissed at it before wickedly pulling the waistband of your panties using his lips, and letting go of it to snap against your skin. A small gasp escaped your lips at the feel of the slight burning sensation which had you aching for more; it also didn’t help how his hot breath ghosted over the most intimate part of your body.

Though, before you could open your mouth, and beg, Chrollo hooked a forefinger around the waistband, and swiftly tugged it down the length of your legs, wet cunt squeezing at nothing as the cool air embraced its heat.

Chrollo took his time to enjoy the bare sight before him by placing open-mouthed kisses dangerously near your sopping cunt—on your inner thighs, below your belly button, and the spot just above your clit. It had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, fingers digging into the sheets beneath; what a wicked, wicked man, he hasn’t even properly touched you yet here you were, legs shaking from all the teasing.

Pride bloomed across his chest at the sight of you—the fucked out expression you donned, the heavy rise, and fall of your chest, and the dainty whimpers that filled the air.

Hooking his hands behind your knees, Chrollo gently pushed them towards your chest ‘til you were folded in half, glistening cunt deliciously exposed for him to devour.

A wanton moan slipped past your lips as Chrollo traced his tongue around the outside of your clit before laying the wet muscle flat against it. He expertly rubbed at the sensitive nub, lewd sounds mixed with your shameless moans engulfed his ears, encouraging him to further stimulate the spot.

Your hips bucked against his face, hands flying down to his hair as the electric sensation returned to your body, sending massive jolts of lightning down the curve of your spine.

“Chrollo, right there! Yes—haah!” You gasped as he switched to the tip of his tongue to lick at your clit.

Chrollo placed his thumb, and forefinger on either side of your clit for better access before moving his tongue side-to-side, across the area beneath the clitoral hood, resulting in a broader stimulation that had you stiffening with pure pleasure.

Looking down at the sinful view between your legs, you let out a loud moan as Chrollo met your eyes through his hooded ones. Without a doubt, ecstasy slowly consumed both his body, and mind with how he subtly rocked his hips against the mattress—cock aching for any kind of contact but Chrollo had to focus more on holding your hips down while you unceremoniously thrashed around, trying to slow your impending orgasm.

As Chrollo continued his torture, it didn’t take long for you to let pleasure consume your body as a whole, and cum on his tongue.

He drank in your pleasured state—lips parted, brows furrowed, and back arched off the mattress; the orgasm that hit you was intense, as though your whole body has been electrified, and the only way to respond was by moaning his name like a sacred prayer in hopes you keep you grounded to reality.

Relishing the taste of your essence on his tongue, he closed his eyes, humming against your sensitive nub in complete satisfaction which had your legs shaking, and hands attempting to push his head away. He gave a few more gentle licks before pulling away, revealing his chin completely drenched in your filthy arousal—Chrollo paid no mind, simply bringing a hand up to his face to wipe at it.

You watched through a lustful haze as Chrollo finally worked on his shirt, each button undone growing closer, and closer to exposing the entirety of his torso.

As he shrugged the fabric off, you couldn’t help but reach out to touch his bare skin—it was pale, fascinatingly chiselled, and scarred; Chrollo’s torso was decorated with a few raised, discoloured patches here, and there indicating the rough past he had. He stared as you traced a scar with your forefinger—a ghostly touch that brought a shudder down his spine—but before you could move onto the next one, Chrollo gently grabbed your wrist, and brought it up to his face, placing a chaste kiss on the heart of your palm.

By no means was he insecure about those scars, in fact, he proudly wore them like a badge, to serve as a reminder that the rest of the world wasn’t his friend.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said your heart didn’t skip a beat or two.

The kiss from Chrollo was different—different from the one Euan had given you during the company event. Yes, the latter was full of sincerity but it didn’t bring warmth to your face like Chrollo’s one had.

Or maybe it was just because of how lost you were in pure lust, unable to decipher even the simplest feelings.

“Tonight is all about you.”

Chrollo shouldn’t be doing this, it goes against his beliefs, and goals—against the very reason why he turned into the person who he was right now.

Mingling with the wealthy, even going to an extent as to have sex with you, if his younger self saw him right now, he wouldn’t be able to believe it.

But what was it about you that had Chrollo rewriting his rules? Why was he so willing to throw away the deep rooted anger inside his heart to pleasure you?

Moreso, what did he gain from all this?—not money, not power, definitely not the justice he sought.

Nonetheless, Chrollo threw those thoughts in the moonlit window—he’d grab them again later at the crack of dawn while guilt eats him alive. Slowly, he dipped his hands below his torso, fumbling with the zipper of his slacks; Chrollo felt your heated stare on his crotch, how your short breaths quickened as he tantalisingly pulled the metal zip down, the sound echoed along with your breathing, allowing Chrollo to bask in your desperation.

You thanked the stars above as he bared himself without anymore teasing, articles of clothing that once hugged his body were now strewn across the floor of your room like unmended pieces of oneself.

Moonlight surrounded Chrollo like a serene aura, an angelic-like glow that had his skin radiating beneath the celestial gleam, turning his hair into the colour of the first starlight. It was hard to focus on his heavenly appearance when sin was right between his legs.

“Do you want me to stop?”

No, god, no, just the thought of Chrollo completely leaving you high, and dry brought tears to your eyes. Shaking your head vigorously, he crawled atop your lust-fuelled body before placing a chaste kiss on your temple then onto your nose, trailing further down ‘til he reached the valley of your breasts. You let out a shudder as Chrollo lapped his way down, not forgetting to tease at your pebbled nipples by giving them a light nip.

“Chrollo, please . .” For once, this was different from what was usually thrown his way—most people begged for their lives as they stared down the barrel of his gun with pure horror in their eyes, lips disturbingly quivering as they pleaded during their last moments.

Wasting no time, Chrollo met your gaze once more, his face mere centimetres from yours. You gasped as his cockhead gently prodded at your entrance as he reached down between your bodies, he rubbed it a few more times, the sinful contact earning low grunts, and moans from both of you.

Chrollo connected his forehead with yours, damp obsidian hair ghosting over your warmed cheeks, holding it in a gentle caress

Letting out a shaky breath, his cock slowly pushed your folds apart as he inched in. Immediately, your legs curled around the dip of his bare waist, interlocking behind his lower back; your hasty movement jolted Chrollo forward which forced his cock further into the plush of your velvety walls.

He sighed, cursing the eye rolling pleasure sent his body into a pathetic tremble. Though, you were no better, clenching around Chrollo every time he pushed deeper—not only did it test his sanity but it also tested his patience.

He reminded himself a million times that simply fucking you like a mere cocksleeve was not his intention for tonight. Or ever. Rich or not, you were still a woman after all, one deserving of nothing but genuine pleasure.

As Chrollo bottomed out, he held your starry gaze, watching as your eyes glistened with tears—whether it was from the bliss his cock had you under or from sadness, he had no idea.

You felt so full, as though the gaping void inside you had been magically sealed—his cock sat there unmoving yet it hit all the right spots, the ones that had you trembling a little harder, and moaning a little louder.

Hot breaths mingled as the two of you let out heavy pants, he stilled inside your wet cunt, allowing both himself, and you to adjust to the feeling, “You’re so tight—fuck.” You gave your hips an experimental rut at his words which pulled a long hiss from him, brows furrowing together.

After a heartbeat or two, Chrollo slowly pulled out, the languid drag of his cock against the plush of your walls had you whining in the shape of his name. It went straight to his cock, twitching at the pornographic sound you let out—if you noticed, you didn’t let on, you were too focused on the way he moved inside you.

With only the tip remaining, Chrollo pushed his hips using the same pace; all the way until he disappeared in your folds once again, heavy balls kissing the skin of your ass.

You could feel the entirety of his length—every dip, and curve which had your legs shaking, and toes curling a little harder. Chrollo’s cock was slightly curved upward which allowed an easy reach to your sweet spot, and with every languid thrust he gave you, his cockhead kissed it repeatedly.

Hands that were pinned to the pillows were released as Chrollo brought a hand to caress your cheek while the other supported his weight. You leaned into his fiery touch, as if doing so was going to ground you from cloud nine.

Setting a deep, slow pace, Chrollo’s face remained a breath away from yours—he kept eye contact, nothing but an endless pit of alluring onyx that pulled you further into the ocean of bliss. Every languid stroke pulled oxygen from your lungs, it had you desperately gasping for air, one which only Chrollo could quench by whispering sweet nothings mere inches from your parted lips.

Mixed with breathless sighs of pleasure was the soft creaking of the bed frame which sung in unison beneath the weight of your rocking bodies. The air grew impossibly thick, and hot allowing the sheets to stick uncomfortably to your bare back but you didn’t care, not when Chrollo fucked you into the mattress as if the sun was going to burn out tomorrow.

You pulled him closer, arms instinctively wrapping around his torso to decorate his back with crimson streaks.

The sharp sting of your nails fuelled Chrollo’s drive—he picked up the pace but remained bottoming out with every powerful thrust, causing your body to jolt in response.

You clung to him tighter, legs painfully locked behind his back as he did his best to move in, and out of your sopping cunt. You were close, and despite Chrollo taking you for the first time, he knew—he could feel your body stiffen with each passing second, the way your greedy cunt grew impossibly tighter, making it hard for him move, and not to mention your broken cries of his name so close to his ears that those were all he could hear.

“I’m so near—god, please don’t stop, Chrollo—!” You sounded so vulnerable, so bare it made his cock twitch.

Greed consuming his pleasured state, Chrollo wrapped an arm around your shoulders, deftly snaking it between the mattress, and your back. He pulled you closer, the weight of your limp torso straining against his curled limb while the other supported his own body.

Chrollo cradled your head with his palm, pushing your face closer to his ‘til the tip of his nose brushed your own. Oh, how tempted he was to kiss the very lips that cried out his name as if he were your saving grace—an angel with his hand stretched out to you.

Barely a whisper above the heavy breaths you exchanged, your name smoothly rolled off his tongue. It was the first time Chrollo did so, and god how addictive it sounded; you shuddered at it, his dulcet voice engulfing the entirety of your being right down to your very core.

“You’ve been so good, are you going to cum? To let go, for me?”

With the minute space left between the two of you, you vigorously nodded your head, too fucked to care about the desperation that seeped from your skin like sweat. Chrollo moaned at your wordless response, fingers slightly curling at the back of your head, his nails dragging across your scalp,

“Haah—! That’s right, give in to it.”

And you did.

With a final drive of his hips, you came undone—the pressure that’s been slowly building up finally bursting inside you.

A broken moan escaped your lips, body arching closer to his as you let your orgasm take you beyond cloud nine.

As if you weren’t already breathless from panting like a whore, Chrollo greedily pressed his lips against your quivering ones to capture them in a passionate kiss.

His lips were soft, and sensual, like it was sculpted by the goddess of love herself. He greedily drank in every moan, and whimper you had to offer, claiming them as his own prized possession to keep. Chrollo’s pace faltered at the feel of your cum coating his cock in a warm embrace—a feeling he’s been deprived off, a feeling he didn’t know he needed.

Pulling away from the kiss, he spoke, breathless, “I’m close—fuck. Where do y—” “Inside.” Chrollo swallowed thickly with your legs tightening around him. It dizzied him, the thought of you so willing to let your insides be marked by him without a second thought.

A small gasp escaped you as he gently set you down onto the mattress, his cockhead brushing your sensitive spot. With his orgasm near, Chrollo dropped his body on top of your own, torsos flush against each other as he trapped you with his weight.

With his own pleasure in mind, Chrollo gave short, hasty thrusts, desperately rutting his hips to chase the growing bliss. The only option for you was to lay there, and moan his name from overstimulation; with his weight on yours, you couldn’t squirm your way out of the immense pleasure.

“I’m here—ngh! ‘M close.” Chrollo whispered into your ear, a hint of apology laced his tone, most likely from how overstimulated you were.

After a few more desperate thrusts, he stilled, sheathing his cock all the way inside your cunt, you felt him twitch before releasing his load with a low moan.

Feeling his hot cum paint your walls white, you mirrored the sound he made. Loud, wet squelches filled the room as Chrollo rode out his high, effectively fucking his cum deeper.

The two of you stayed still for a moment, letting your bodies bathe in serene moonlight. You laid beneath him, listening to his rhythmic heartbeat pound away against his ribcage, it effectively lulled you to the borders of sleep, your heavy eyelids slowly closing in exhaustion.

Though, before you could fully close them, Chrollo rolled off your body with a soft grunt, his cock slipping out in the process. The loss of contact had you clenching around nothing at the feel of his cum slowly seeping out of your cunt. Before you could speak up, Chrollo beat you to it,

“I should go.” He cleared his throat, voice low, a hint of sadness laced in his tone. Though, you didn’t catch on. Chrollo quietly gathered his clothes, putting them on layer by layer until he was fully clothed. An indiscernible emotion washed over you as he made his way to the door, each quiet step taken tugging at an invisible string tangled in your heart. Oddly enough, it stung.

“Yeah . .” You nodded in a daze.

The lack of response from your end tore at Chrollo’s insides—it made sense, after all, he was nothing but a quick fuck, what did he expect? For you to convince him to stay the night? That was beyond delusional.

As Chrollo reached for the handle, you called his name out of instinct. His heart skipped a beat. “Yes, miss . . ?” He spoke your title in a small voice, unsure which name was appropriate in this situation.

“Thank you.”

That was all you could muster. What else was there anyway? Chrollo wasn’t a person you were supposed to be sleeping with in the first place, nor was he your lover who you could be intimate with after sex.

He was nothing but a bodyguard, and will remain your bodyguard. Whatever happened in this room was to be forgotten.

The sound of the door clicking reached your ears, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone. His scent lingered in the air, becoming one with the sweet aroma of chrysanthemums.

Within the next coming days, you were right, and wrong. Right because in the face of others, the professional relationship between you, and Chrollo remained—a bodyguard, and his principal.

Wrong because stupidly enough, the both of you had not forgotten what happened a couple of nights back. The days were filled with stolen glances, and stuttering heartbeats, you couldn’t stand by idly while your heart yearned for your bodyguard.

At first, you convinced yourself that this feeling was purely lust-driven, it was only natural to seek out Chrollo’s presence after a night with him.

You believed it for a week.

One whole week until you felt your heart clenching at the sight of your bodyguard exchanging a conversation with one of the maids. Chrollo was all smiles, the kind that reached his eyes; the maid wasn’t any better, an obvious blush extending from her cheeks to her ears said it all.

He never smiled at you like that.

Why was he treating you—his boss—any different? Chrollo was always nonchalant with you, barely any words spoken yet here he was animatedly cracking jokes left, and right like he had some kind of alter ego. It pissed you off.

More so, being angry at the fact that Chrollo treated you differently upset you even more. At best, this was a trivial matter, something you shouldn’t even think about.

But you couldn’t let go of it, not when he gazed at you the same way he had done so that night.

Within the next week, you’d realise that merely having Chrollo by your side wasn’t enough.

On Monday, you did your best to converse with him while buying chrysanthemums at the boutique, even going as far as giving him a flower from your bouquet, hoping that he’d think of you whenever he looked at it.

On Wednesday, instead of asking your personal assistant to grab your lunch, you took Chrollo instead, and headed out the office which gave you more alone time with him.

And by Friday, you couldn’t take it anymore. You called Chrollo into your bedroom late at night after finding the courage to do so. Naturally, he stood inside as if he didn’t have you filling the room with your own moans two weeks ago.

The familiar sweet scent of chrysanthemums filled his lungs, taking him back to the pleasure-filled night with you. Chrollo pushed the thought down, deeming it extremely inappropriate, especially being alone with you like this, again.

He swallowed as you pat the empty spot next to you, your vulnerable state beckoning him to devour you. Who was he to deny himself of acting on his predatory instincts?

“This is . . rather unprofessional, miss.”

That was the last thing he said before he found himself sitting on the edge of your bed, kissing you like he loved you. Did he? Large hands cupped your jaw, eagerly pulling you closer to his face. Even though Chrollo didn’t bare his heart, the zeal behind his kisses revealed the truth hidden in his chest.

Both lips fell into a unison, slotting into each other like they were made for one another. Before getting carried away, Chrollo pulled back, brows lifting in amusement as he watched the way your face leaned in, searching for his lips.

“What—What about Mr. Euan?” He asked, breathless, onyx strands dishevelled, courtesy of your wandering hands.

You both knew you didn’t have feelings for Euan but saying it aloud wasn’t going to change the fact that a ring sat on your finger, it was far more complicated than that.

Lowering your gaze, you shrugged. Guilt picked at your skin, the thought of disrespecting Euan had you freezing in place. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be prying.” Chrollo whispered, hot breath fanning across your face. He tucked a strand behind your ear before sliding his digit down to your chin, lifting your face.

“Kiss me?”

You didn’t have to be told twice.

What the two of you had wasn’t exactly a relationship—beyond a professional relationship but less than a romantic one. But Chrollo cared for you all the same, even if it meant watching in the sidelines as Euan made his polite advances—kiss on your cheek, a hand on the small of your back, his fingers tucking stray hairs aside, Chrollo endured it all. Whether or not it affected him, he didn’t let on.

Instead, he returned affection tenfold in comparison to what Euan gave you. Your room had turned into a rendezvous—every night, behind its closed doors, Chrollo took you in his arms, and whisked you away from reality, from all the inhibitions you felt. And amidst all the meaningful conversations, the shared pleasure, the tears shed, a bond deeper than one could comprehend blossomed within these walls.

Chrollo became a rock you could lean on—a significant person you could be vulnerable with, and bare your heart on the table, unguarded. He listened to your problems, and silly thoughts with open arms, and ears, stroking your hair beneath the moonlight as the two of you lay underneath the ivory sheets.

With you, he was a completely different person, a person who he deserved to become. One that could relate to the little joys in life—whether it be chasing sunsets, dipping salty fries in vanilla ice cream or looking up at the night sky without any remorse in one's heart.

With you, Chrollo had a fleeting glimpse of the life he was robbed of because all he knew was how to survive for another day—how to kill swiftly, and effectively.

And he’d be reminded of all these when returned to his own quarters in the dead of the night. That the sole purpose of his arrangement in this estate was to take you out—not to nurture a bond with you, not to have sex with you, not to listen to all your thoughts, no. Chrollo was here as your assassin.

To hold you so gently in his hands knowing they would be the same ones covered in your blood. It was almost laughable, it surprised Chrollo how he—a person conditioned to destroy—was able to touch you with the utmost gentleness as if he’s never once tasted violence on his tongue.

Clearly, you both felt something for one another but acting on it was easier said than done—not to mention how this mission wasn’t supposed to end up like this, all tangled up in a web known as you.

Did Chrollo love you? Truth be told, he didn’t know. He never had the privilege of experiencing what romantic love was. Wanting to be by your side was the only thing he was certain of.

Lying in bed, Chrollo looked over at his nightstand, it housed a singular piece of chrysanthemum soaked in a glass of water—one that you had given him earlier this week. Now, his room smelled just like yours, the flower’s sweet aroma lingering in the air.

It helped Chrollo sleep a little better; smelling its familiar scent tricked his mind into thinking he slept in your presence.

A little over a week.

That was how much time Chrollo had left to get the job done assigned by Ciaran. It wasn’t long, and he knew he had to make the decision soon but not before taking a gamble.

As Saturday arrived, you stuck to your routine as usual, the only difference was, the late night was spent driving around with Chrollo.

The atmosphere inside the vehicle grew thicker by the minute, he could tell something weighed your mind from the way you pursed your lips, and fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. But of course, the ever polite man he was, he waited ‘til you opened up to him—Chrollo knew you like the back of his hand, whenever things bothered you to an extent, it didn’t take long for you to break.

“Can I tell you something?” You murmured above the hum of the engine. Staring to the side, you watched as Chrollo wordlessly nodded his head, stealing a brief glance your way before focusing on the wheel. He took notice of how you sat on the front passenger seat instead of your usual spot.

Looking out the window, you spoke up, “I . . don’t know how to deal with all this.” Chrollo remained silent, urging you to continue. “I’m going to be married to a man I don’t love, and I’ll be running a company I don’t want. And us. I want you, Chrollo, I really do but I . .”

Chrollo’s grip tightened around the wheel.

“Why don’t we just run away, and leave all this behind? We can build a new life together and—”

“Is that what you want? To run away with me?” Chrollo cut you off. Coming to a full stop at the red lights, he turned to you, the seriousness in his expression made you somewhat nervous.

Would it be foolish of him to comfort you with words he partially meant?—words that would only hurt you in the end?

“I can give you that.”

At this point, Chrollo was lying to himself. To be so brazen, and accept running away with you knowing well enough his neck was chained to the underground—loyal to his roots.

Weighing the options, it was crystal clear that the odds were against the both of you. Of course, you didn’t know that, you had absolutely no idea Chrollo had underground ties nor was he assigned to kill you by none other than Ciaran.

Considering the latter’s involvement in underground business, you wouldn’t be the only one with a target on their back; it only made sense for Ciaran to put a hit on Chrollo as well for disobeying his orders if he were to consider running away. It would elicit a whole lot of enemies, and he couldn’t put you in a situation where he was willing to risk you dying in someone else’s hands.

Living a life hiding from dangers of the world—that’s what you would have to go through if you, and Chrollo were to run away. Did you really deserve to live that way? Did you deserve to live in the conditions Chrollo tried to run away from?

The answer was more than obvious.

Obviously, a life with Euan benefitted you more—you’d have more stability, and security. Who was he to take away all those things from you?

Having never tasted something as sweet as this feeling with you, Chrollo found himself holding tighter rather than letting go, he fed on greed, and delusion.

Truth be told, it tore him apart. A part of him cursed, and yelled at him for being so naïve, and easily moved by a woman he had only known for a month and a half—not to mention how he despised your kind.

The other part urged him to reach for the unthinkable, and build a new life he deserved, with you. Chrollo was ready to lay his weapon down if it meant being by your side ‘til the end of time.

Maybe in another life.

He knew he had to make a decision. Soon. Ciaran had been making calls to his burner more often than not, and he could sense the former’s patience growing thinner, and thinner as each day turned into night.

Whatever Chrollo’s decision was, he just hoped you’d still love him all the same—forgive him.

There was one crucial piece of information Chrollo had remembered. On Sundays, you dismissed all security staff that accompanied you, including the chauffeur, Lukas. This meant that for one day, you were completely unguarded, and alone.

Chrollo was unaware of the reason but it was obvious you wanted to experience a sense of independence one way or another.

Nonetheless, he managed to keep an eye on you by using an ample amount of distance—it was a piece of cake, after all, he tracked his targets in stealth mode for a living; akin to a predator sizing up its prey before sinking its canines.

Sundays weren’t particularly eventful, you spent the day alone running around swiping your credit card left, and right until it made you feel a tad better. So when Chrollo had ‘accidentally’ bumped into you at the parking lot, hidden from public cameras, he was aware of how effortless it was to whisk you away from the public.

“Chrollo? What brings you here?”

The bodyguard was dressed in his usual attire, a white button down neatly tucked beneath his black slacks, and this time, he didn’t wear a blazer.

“I figured you’d be here, miss. Something came up at the estate—you’re needed back home.” A lie.

Chrollo observed as the sparkle in your eyes drained at his words, genuine concern rolling in like grey clouds looming above on a stormy night. His heart clenched. Not in a good way. “Don’t worry, no one is hurt.” With his reassurance, your shoulders dropped with ease, the breath you’ve been holding slipped past your lips in a relieved sigh.

It pained the assassin how trusting you were, how easily one could play you into the palm of their hand the same way he did right now. Why?—why didn’t you question how effortlessly Chrollo pinpointed your exact location? The city was expansive, no normal person would be able to trace your steps unless they followed right from when you left the estate.

The vehicle was quiet, leaving room for Chrollo to notice the faint scent of chrysanthemums inside—it was your personal car, not the one Lukas used to drive you around hence the flowery aroma.

For some odd reason, the smell no longer comforted him the same way it did whenever he frequented your room. It made him nauseous. If Chrollo was to put it in words, the aroma smelled of sweet death, and it reminded him of the church back in Meteor City.

Consumed by concern, and lost in your own thoughts, you paid no attention to your surroundings outside, how it grew less, and less familiar with each kilometre driven by your bodyguard. You also didn’t notice Chrollo repeatedly stealing glances through the rearview mirror every now, and then, missing the way his steely gaze housed a hint of nervousness—an emotion he didn’t normally harbour.

Though, as you finally came to, you gazed out the window, eyes carefully scanning the fleeting hues outside as the car drove by. Soft colours of pinks, and oranges seeped through the glass which casted an ethereal glow inside, it hinted at the setting sun, and the darkness that loomed just around the corner. As your brain registered the foreign roads, confusion settled in,

“Are we taking a detour, Chrollo?”

He wordlessly nodded. You mirrored his action in acknowledgement but the feeling of unease was oddly difficult to dismiss, especially with how deserted these roads were. The streets were decorated with construction sites, abandoned buildings, and old houses that were decorated with wooden planks to seal off windows, and entrances.

A weird feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. You caught the way Chrollo’s stone cold gaze locked with yours for a split second but didn’t dare speak up.

Just as your heart started to race, the vehicle came to a halt, Chrollo had parked in front of an abandoned building—an old church, based on its architecture. Its unmistakable pointed roof aiming at the skies above, and stained glass windows marked with angels, and other holy beings said it all.

The building was surrounded by overgrown greenery, and wrecked furniture dumped on the side which hinted at years of apparent neglect. Its dressed stone walls were the epitome of sacrilege itself, littered with colourful vandalism from top to bottom; even just seeing it with your own eyes felt like a grave sin. A forbidden image.

“What—” “Get out.” Chrollo cut you off. For a tone so cold you could’ve swore a subtle shudder ran down the length of your spine. His stare met your own through the mirror for a second time and your heart sank all the way down to your stomach at how serious he was, dread slowly engulfing your body. What the hell was happening!? Why was Chrollo acting strangely?

“No.”

Chrollo turned to face you, still wearing that stoic expression. You felt small under his gaze, it almost felt predatory—no—not almost, it did; you didn’t want to admit but you caught a glimpse of the way his eyes sparkled with sharp, murderous intent.

Swallowing thickly, you crossed your arms, trying to appear nonchalant, albeit, it was more for yourself than for the man before you.

“Not until I get an answer. You mentioned something had come up at the estate, so why aren’t we—” “I lied.”

Before you could question his motives, Chrollo swiftly got out, the resounding thud as he shut the door closed had your body flinching a bit. You watched as he rounded the car, and made his way just before your door.

Opening it, a hand reached in for your wrist; gentle fingers curled around your skin as if you were a delicate flower—a daring contrast from the way his piercing gaze stabbed shards of unease throughout your body.

You pulled away, easily slipping off Chrollo’s placid grasp before helping yourself out of the vehicle. His hand curled into a loose fist as he watched you exit the car with an evident scowl on your face; funnily enough, Chrollo had the audacity to feel upset at the rejection. Never once have you denied his touch.

Crossing the narrow clearing that led to the unsealed church entrance, chunks of loose stone, and dirt moved beneath your steps; you stared at your feet as they navigated through the unstable terrain.

It was odd. Calm, and composed were the last two things you should be feeling in this situation, given the sudden shift in Chrollo’s demeanour, you were supposed to be fearing for your life right this instance despite your blindness to the hidden danger that lay ahead.

Chrollo . . He would never do that to you, right? Upon taking the job, he swore to protect you. But your better judgement screamed at all the glaring crimson coloured flags—an abandoned church in a deserted neighbourhood? It was the perfect set up for heinous crimes.

Out of instinct, you scanned the layout of the building from where you stood, if it came down to it, there was only one viable escape route which was through the main entrance of the church, the one Chrollo pulled open.

By now, the sun had fully disappeared below the horizon, and the colourful remnants the burning star left in its wake slowly faded into deep hues of night azure. Strangely, this end of the town harboured harsher winds with a freezing bite that had you rubbing your arms over the sleeves of your top.

A heavy groan sounded from the mahogany doors, it cut through the wind’s endless howl as it danced with the leaves, and through the sharp branches, interlocking trees in a soft sway.

A chill ran down your spine at the loudness of it. The doors parted revealing a view you’d expect in an old abandoned church—disorganised pews to create a spacing in the middle, antique chandeliers affixed to the high ceiling covered in thick layers of dust and cobwebs, and trash scattered across its marbled floors; by the state of the inside, squatters most likely frequented the building due to its unsealed entrance.

The inside was dimly lit from street lights outside, it poured through the stained glass windows which allowed a deep scarlet glow to illuminate the building. Chrollo stepped inside, the soles of his obsidian dress shoes quietly clicked with every calculated step further into the church.

Foolishly enough, you followed as though a crimson string bound yourself to his—he was acting strangely, and the most appropriate approach as of now was to question his behaviour, and the bizarreness of the situation. Walking away would only prove useless with how far he has driven, and he had your car keys; at best, you could only cooperate.

“Chrollo, will you please tell me what’s going on?” You navigated inside the old building, the scent of mildew, and rotten wood lingered in the damp air, it captured your senses in a tight hold.

Ruby bounced off Chrollo’s inky strands as he stood at the heart of the church, right beneath the stained windows with divine beings. It turned his pale skin into an angry red, and you wondered if that’s what he felt right this very moment, clearly you weren’t far off with how he pierced your soul earlier.

He turned to face you, “I’m doing this for your sake.” For the first time today, emotion seeped through the cracks of his nonchalance.

Chrollo looked almost sad, you weren’t entirely sure given the lack of lighting but the unmistakable glint behind those obsidian eyes was anything but foreign. For a split second, it was the same Chrollo that spent countless nights in your bedroom; not as your bodyguard, not as anyone else but simply as Chrollo—your Chrollo.

“For my sake? What the hell are you talking about, Chrollo?” Like the vermillion glow that bounced off your skin as you stepped closer, anger slowly bubbled in the pit of your stomach. Chrollo was nothing but cryptic with his responses, and you couldn’t wrap your head around any of them! He had always been a straightforward person, sometimes blunt, so why was he holding back now?

Standing beneath the scarlet light softly illuminated your features, Chrollo thought you looked exquisite bathed in the brilliance of red. Even with a tinge of doubt, and anger in your eyes, you were filled with love the same way the colour kissed every part of your skin.

“An escape from all this . . That’s what you want, right?” With his right hand, Chrollo reached inside his pocket, it took you a few seconds to identify the item in his hand—a gun.

With the way it’s unmistakable silver glistened beneath the dim lighting, you could tell it was a weapon of his own; not the ones registered under your father’s name. You stiffened, and your body ran cold, gaze met with the barrel of his gun.

“Chrollo?” Barely a whisper, you called out his name above the thick atmosphere, each second spent inside it had you desperately gasping for air; whether it be from nervousness or confusion, you didn’t care to find out.

He swallowed thickly, fingers curling tighter around the handle of his gun, trying to ignore the way your desperate plea violently struck a chord in his heart.

“Chrollo please put the gun down! You’re out of your mind!” Panic surged from head to toe, it came in vicious waves, scratching, and gnawing at your bare skin like a vehement beast. Chrollo tried to ignore the apparent tremble in your voice, he couldn’t afford to mess this up.

“Yes, I want to escape—with you. Why are you doing this to me, Chrollo? Why do you want me dead?!”

The third time his name rolled off your tongue, he was ready to throw the gun across the room, and cradle you in his arms while whispering apologetic nothings in your ear.

But he didn’t.

Chrollo stayed rooted in his spot, gun aimed at you, “Remember Ciaran Driscoll?—” You furrowed your brows. Ciaran? “He paid me to kill you.” A shaky breath, that was all you could muster, your mind was too busy trying to piece everything together.

Ciaran. Chrollo. Kill. Your blood ran cold.

But Chrollo didn’t give you time to breathe, steady clicks of his shoes echoed throughout the church as he paced back, and forth, “I was elated when I agreed to his proposal. Why? Because a pompous soul dying by my hands is what I’m made for—” He was calm, and collected, a faint smile displayed on his face as he slowly walked towards you. “Did you know what your people did? To my home? To my friend?” Stopping just before you, Chrollo leaned in, obsidian gaze piercing right through you.

“A lot of you treated Meteor City like some kind of hunting ground at your disposal. As if—as if its inhabitants were nothing but mere animals. For what? The sake of illegal dealings? For more money? Power?”

Chrollo caressed the side of your face with the back of his left hand—the other remained motionless by his side—his ghostly touch trembled against your skin, afraid that if he pressed down any further, you’d crack.

The situation baffled you. Not only was Chrollo blaming you for the atrocities caused by other people, you still couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that he was in cahoots with Ciaran Driscoll to orchestrate your demise.

Is that why Chrollo applied to become your bodyguard? To get close before finally killing you off? You felt another wave of dread wash over you. Everything felt numb, your limbs, your torso, your heart.

Shaking your head, you finally broke the silence with a trembling voice, tears threatening to spill out, “I’m not involved in any of those, Chrollo. Do you even hear yourself right now?”

He did. God. He fucking did and he felt absolutely foolish for blaming you. After you had bared your soul to him every night, Chrollo stopped seeing you in the same light as he did before. Yes, his deep-rooted disdain never left but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of loving you; it was a battle between desire and duty, and he already knew the victor.

The determination in your eyes, you were set on running away from the current life you had, and as tempting as that was, he didn’t have the courage to lead you into a new life full of nothing but danger.

Chrollo would rather have you dying by his own bloodied hands—for him to live each day filled with regret—than have someone else basking in the glory of killing you. At least that way, he’d be tainted by you.

“You’re all the same. Ciaran’s father is proof enough! You said it yourself that he was involved in illegal business—”

“So those nights we spent together . . were they just all part of the act? You never cared for me.” Chrollo barely caught the last part of your sentence as you muttered it under your breath; he watched as your gaze lowered, a wave of sadness engulfing you for a split second before finding his eyes once again. This time, you wore a glare.

You straightened up, “Tell me, Chrollo. Was it all just an act? A show you put on just to get close to me?” Questions lingered in the air the same way dust did, it sat heavy on Chrollo’s shoulders but he remained stubborn—silent. Would his answer change the circumstances? No.

After all, nothing good came out of trivial matters. At his stillness, you grabbed his right hand, trembling fingers curling around the shaft of his wrist as you brought it up to your face, pressing the barrel of his gun to your forehead. It felt icy against your feverish skin, like the kiss of a grim reaper.

Ever so slightly, Chrollo’s brows rose in shock, breath hitching at your brazenness. “Did you ever love me?” A broken whisper spoken into the crimson-lit night, so dainty, so weak yet it pierced his heart without a second thought. It left a gaping hole, as ugly as sin, and no amount of repentance could heal.

Love. How would one define love? Was it the act of sacrificing someone dear to oneself? Chrollo didn’t know. But more importantly, how did you define love?

“Did you?”

Digging deeper into the subject would only lead to the grave of his heart but Chrollo couldn’t care less, it was already six feet under since the day he sought revenge for his friend.

With a heavy sigh, your eyes finally softened, “Of course. I still do.” You felt his hand twitch in your hold, as if he briefly tried to pull the gun away.

Glimmering like the first starlight were tears staining your cheeks, one by one they fell down as a surge of emotions drowned your body; your brows were furrowed yet your eyes looked at Chrollo like he held the cosmos in his hands.

Is this what was meant when they said love and anger were painted in the same shade of red?

In his line of work, Chrollo has never seen anything as haunting as your gaze. It was natural for his targets to look up at him in complete horror, tears welled up in their eyes as they begged him to spare their lives but you—your eyes were full of nothing but love, and adoration despite his gun pointed at you. That look alone was enough to torment his coming days.

“Do you, Chrollo? Do you love me?” His chest tightened at the hopeful glint in your eye. Nothing good ever came out of trivial matters because at the end of the day, Chrollo was nothing but a man chained to his sinful revenge—blindly devoted to the hatred planted in his heart, and it came with a great price.

A sudden wave of red washed over his body, resulting in an ear splitting bang that resounded within the church’s bricked walls. Chrollo flinched at the sound—he’s never done that before—followed by a heavy thud against the marbled floors. It took the assassin one, two, three seconds to register the situation, the violent sensation of the gun’s recoil still fresh on his trembling hand.

The faint scent of iron hung in the air.

Chrollo looked down at the grisly sight before him, gun in his hand weighing heavy before it finally slipped from his absent grip. The weapon fell beside his right foot.

For the first time, Chrollo Lucilfer—the bringer of death—weeped, and mourned the demise of his target. He wailed into the darkness as warm crimson slowly pooled around your head, it resembled a faux halo, a tainted fallen angel.

Broken sobs, and ugly cries filled the damp building—this was the first in a long time that he had heard the sounds of his own grief. Guilt, and sorrow consumed Chrollo the same way the shadows of the night did but no amount of tears would bring you back to life, no amount of whispered I love you’s would reciprocate his words, no amount of cracks in his heart would turn back time.

You were dead, and it was all because of the man you loved so blindly. ‘Til your dying breath, you were shielded from the secrets of his true identity, and feelings, ones he swore he would take to the very grave he dug.

Chrollo fell to his knees, his fingers dug into his palms hard enough to draw blood. The vile pungence of your blood suffocated his senses, despite something so familiar to him, Chrollo heaved and curled over himself, quivering like an autumn leaf in the wind—he looked pathetic; hot tears and snot covered his reddened face as he cried out into darkness.

Every bit of air left his lungs and each breath felt like a chase he couldn’t win. Truth be told, he didn’t have the courage to reach out to your body, no, he didn’t feel like he deserved to do so.

To taint you more than he already had. So, Chrollo didn’t, instead, he weeped until the moon decorated the obsidian skies, until his tears tried, until your body ran cold, and every bit of colour you wore was gone.

And when the assassin finally pieced himself together, he did three things.

One, let Ciaran Driscoll know that the job had been done using a burner phone.

Two, with the same device, Chrollo called the police, brazenly letting them know he murdered someone, and the exact location of the crime scene.

Three, he covered your car in flames, and fed the burner phone into it; he watched as bright hues of oranges and yellows devoured the vehicle before doing what he did best: disappearing into the night, and becoming one with the shadows to never be found again.

The night before, he had quietly handed in his resignation to Lukas who gave him an appreciative pat on the back, the old timer parted with words that Chrollo knew would remain ingrained in his mind, ‘I’m quite sure the young miss appreciated your service. Thank you for taking care of her.’

His heart shouldn’t have clenched at that but it did, and painfully so.

The coming days blended into nights with Chrollo sitting inside his hideout—a dingy, rundown motel with paper thin walls that housed interesting individuals. Completely unaware of the time, his only company was the ticking ivory wall clock above the cramped dining space.

The hefty payment from Ciaran lay untouched on the bed, concealed within a briefcase. He didn’t eat nor drink, not even having the energy to step outside for occasional sunlight, and every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the look you gave him during your final moments, he remembered the metallic tang in the air.

The old chunky television situated atop a rusty console table was what kept Chrollo’s sanity intact.

Day to night, it blasted morning, afternoon, and evening news—to the point of fellow motel goers knocking at his door to complain about the noise—just to keep up with information about you. As much as Chrollo yearned to bask in the memory of you, seeing your face plastered on television followed by a variety of words such as ‘rest in peace’, ‘murdered’, ‘assassinated’, and ‘dead’ didn’t help his mind at all.

At least what kept him entertained were the updates on potential suspects that may be tied to the crime scene; the murder weapon was an unregistered gun loaded with an unregistered bullet, and the footprints left at the scene had no unique tread.

So at best, there were no concrete leads in the case.

Not that it mattered to Chrollo.

Atop the cheap wooden table on which he sat were two things, the murder weapon and a singular stem of a white chrysanthemum. The one you had given him from your bouquet. Chrollo let the flower sit there for days on end until its ivory petals shrivelled into a brown hue—its sweet aroma turning pungent.

Until it withered.

Until the scent of death choked him the same way his cries did that night—a mockery of what was lost, of what he willingly destroyed.

One month. It took Chrollo a month to finally step into the day, and out of the drab motel room. Brightness engulfed his vision, the sun’s afternoon rays shone as brightly as ever, enveloping him in a warm, gentle hug as if to welcome him back to reality.

He was certain he didn’t deserve kindness from this world, not even the permission to step foot in the very earth that held your body dearly in its grasp as though you were its prized possession.

Oddly enough, Chrollo found himself standing before a familiar flower boutique. With his gaze locked onto the floor-to-ceiling windows, he looked around the inside, as if doing so was going to have you magically pop out of nowhere, and buy a dozen of white chrysanthemums like before.

But you didn’t.

Pulled from his thoughts, a recognizable voice filled his ears, it was the owner, “Are you here to buy flowers for a lover, perhaps? I can recommend a few—” She stopped halfway through her sentence, realising the familiar face that stood before her. Chrollo watched as her face morphed into a sad smile, the cheery glint in her eyes disappearing beneath the thickness of her lashes,

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re her bodyguard, right?” He inhaled a sharp breath at the mention of you, heart violently thumping against the confines of his chest. Chrollo could only nod, anything more than that would have him breaking.

The old lady reached out her plump hand, and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “I’m so sorry for your loss. She was lovely—”

Don’t say that. Don’t say it to me like I’m not the cause of her death. Don’t say it to me like I should be mourning for someone who died by my hands.

Chrollo gritted his teeth, jaw clenching at the sympathy thrown his way. He felt sick and disgusted with himself—as if he were a vile being trapped beneath human skin. All of a sudden the sun rays that gently enveloped his body didn’t feel like a warm hug anymore, sharp, hot prickles spread throughout his clothed skin, leaving a painful itch.

“—and the only customer who bought chrysanthemums frequently. Others usually bought the flowers once or twice for funerals and death anniversaries; she was the only one who truly saw chrysanthemums in a different light.”

A symbol of devoted love and loyalty, that’s how you saw them.

How ironic that the flowers you once adored would be laid upon your grave, holding a completely different message; mourning and grief. That didn’t sit well with Chrollo, you loved white chrysanthemums but not for that reason.

“Apologies, I ramble too much.” The owner let out a polite chuckle before continuing. “Well, can I at least interest you in some flowers? What would it be for you?”

“Can I get a dozen of those?” Chrollo pointed at the lively bunch soaked in water, situated just beside the boutique’s entrance. Following his finger, she looked behind her and smiled, “Right away.”

Its petals resembled rays of the first sunshine, the golden hue it wore promised eternal warmth even after death.

As day turned into night with the crescent moon high above the obsidian skies, Chrollo made his way to your perpetual resting place—it didn’t take much effort to do some digging around to find out where your body had been buried.

The chilly wind howled as it danced with the dark, trees and leaves swaying to accompany it with a silent song. He walked down the moonlit path of the cemetery, land that outstretched before him was decorated with tombstones, and in his left hand was the bouquet he bought earlier.

Moonlight shone over your grave as if the moon herself knew the secrets shared between you and Chrollo on cloudless nights. Bouquets of white chrysanthemums decorated the space around your grave, candles that were once lit rested atop the marbled tombstone that housed your full name.

Oddly enough, this felt like déjà vu. Maybe it was due to the fact that you and Chrollo rendezvoused in your room the same way he visited your grave—under a lonely moonlit night where soft whispers, and beating hearts were heard.

Bending down, Chrollo lightly caressed your carved name, cleaning out stray pieces of grass and dirt blown by the wind. He gently placed the bouquet amongst the sea of white, its colourful hue greedily taking all the limelight from the sombre flowers,

“I know these aren’t your favourite but I figured you’d like them too . .” He paused for a moment, foolishly waiting for you to reply.

“. . Yellow chrysanthemums just like the white ones but—” Who was he kidding? Chrollo felt stupid. Talking to your grave as if you were alive—as if he wasn’t the one who brought you to your demise.

The audacity he had.

Truth be told, every fibre inside his body screamed at him to turn back, and never show his disgusting self but Chrollo was as greedy as the darkness that drank the moonlight each night.

He envied the ground like sin, how held you in its arms, cradling your rotting body in its eternal embrace. It should be him. Now, he’d have to remember you longer than he had known you.

Instead, Chrollo was six feet above—alive; tied to, and haunted by the shackles of foolish regret. The memory of that night replayed in his mind over and over again like a cursed broken record, the disgusting thump as your lifeless body hit the floor, blood pooling around your head.

Most nights he’d find himself calling your name in his sleep—he always dreamt of the same dream: you, running away from him in a field of flowers, no matter how hard he worked his legs, he never seemed to reach your body.

Chrollo sat before your grave and sobbed, letting creatures of the night feel his vulnerability; as the wind howled, the breeze carried the sounds of his cries to the trees, where it promised him to keep it a secret—a story only reserved for the dead.

Hot tears rolled down his frost-bitten cheeks, pooling on the tip of his chin before it fell on the damp grass beneath.

In antique texts, yellow chrysanthemums represented one’s heart left to desolation. Neglected love. It was only befitting for he has killed the very person who grew to love his blood-stained soul because in the end, he was nothing but a man only adept at destroying.

He let out shaky exhale, and whispered into the night the answer you sought,

“I love you.”

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum & @pixelcafe-network !

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willowedspirits · 7 months ago

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Hollow Knight Linked Universe AU! I've finally finished it!

If you don't know much about Hollow Knight, a lot of the technicalities might not make sense, and I would encourage you to look into the game. Or you could just enjoy the chain as bugs and see them off on their buggy adventures!

I've made this AU trying to keep as close as I can to Hollow Knight's story, but some creative liberties were of course taken.

My main idea is that the infection is the equivalent to Dark Link's (who does exist in this) infected monsters and it's up to them to try and slow/stop the infection. My first thought was to have the infection start to spread outside of Hallownest, and the chain needs to go and stop it, but I'm still going back and forth on it.

I'm still open to changing concepts if I find something that works better, but after literal months of working on this on and off I'm happy with how this has turned out!

Rambling about character details below!

Small note: I've set this AU at roughly the start of the infection, when Radiance was starting to take over Hallownest.

Time

Is not from Hallownest. He traveled to Hallownest from a distant land, where he met Malon and settled down with her.

He encountered Radiance upon entering Hallownest, but was protected by a god that had already laid claim to him, Fierce Deity, who protects him from the Radiance's infection.

He and Malon live in the Howling Cliffs.

His wing and antenna injury are from Radiance when she tried to infect him.

He is not able to fly because of the injury, and now fights with a heavy nail.

His wings used to be green, but after encountering the Fierce Deity, they slowly started to change in color until they were blue.

I'm not sure if I would do anything with the eyes on his wings, I was trying to make a connection to Majora in that, but I'm still debating whether to add it.

Twilight

Is a part of the Traitor Mantis tribe that lives in the Queen's Garden.

He met a Sibling (Midna) that escaped from the Abyss. They gave him the ability to harness Void.

Still working on the detail for how exactly they give him this ability, but my rough idea is that perhaps both of them were attacked by and infected villager, and they saved him by giving up their Void essence.

He's grown up wanting to be infected by the Radiance. He was taught the Radiance was a god that gave bugs great strength, but after seeing what the infection really does, he starts to have second thoughts.

The cloak he is wearing is new. The one he wore before was damaged. I'm still debating on when exactly he gets it, but I think it's something he makes after he leaves the traitor village.

Warriors

He is the head knight of the Hive and oversees whoever enters their territory.

His scarf is a gift from the princess of the Hive given to him when he leaves to join the group.

Since he is a bee, he is connected to the Hive via the hivemind. He uses this to check in on his home whenever he can.

This also makes it very dangerous if he gets infected, since it would quickly spread to the other bee's.

I kept his nail the same as Hive Knight's, but it's open to change.

Four

(I'm still very iffy on Four's story concept, but here's what I have so far)

Lives in Green Path.

He has a passion for weapon smithing, and planned on moving to the capital of Hallownest (City of Tears).

But he accidently stumbled on a weak Unn, and agreed to help protect her while she recovered.

When she did recover, she blessed him with a power that allows him to split into 4 parts of himself using his SOUL.

He can split while in the physical world, but will always be split while in the Dream realm. This also makes it difficult for Radiance to infect him.

Wind

Lives in the Kingdom's Edge and works as a guide across the acid lakes. Most of the travelers are those who are seeking to fight in the Colosseum of Fools.

This is how he found the Colosseum, and regularly attends (but not participate in) some of the fights, which is how he meets Tetra.

He is just learning to fly, but is picking it up really fast.

I wanted to keep the lobster apart of his design... But there are no lobsters in Hollow Knight... Then I remembered this was an AU and I can do what I want with it. So lets just pretend that Lobsters are seen as these awesome ancient beings that he wishes to see one day.

Wild

He was a guardian of the Beast's Den before he became infected, leaving the Den to reside somewhere in Deep Nest.

He is cured by the Dream Nail when the group meets him, and the last to join.

His shell is cracked and damaged because of the infection. The cracks have healed over time, but will never go away.

He has trouble with his memory due to being infected for so long before being cured. He is slowly regaining his memory, but there are still a lot of pieces missing.

His infection spread through to his arm, but is hidden under his cloak.

He uses his nails almost as throwing needles.

Legend

Is a shop owner in Hallownest's capital. He sells all kinds of items from all across Hallownest, small things he's found that could be valuable.

He's managed to make his way into the upper class of the capital due to his shop. His cloak is a modified version of the upper-class wardrobe. He dyed and added the hood himself.

Has a great sense of exploration, and has been all over Hallownest, but still has some places he needs to check off.

His jewelry are all gifts from Ravio.

My original concept for his design was to give him 4 arms. I was thinking of the Collector when designing him, and thought it fit. But after working on finalizing the design, I wasn't sure if I wanted to keep it. I still love the concept though.

Hyrule

(Again, I don't have a clear story concept for him but I have some notes)

Lives in the Ancient Basin.

Has learned how to use SOUL, and is in hiding from the residents of the Soul Sanctum because of it.

He has access to spells and is able to heal himself using SOUL.

I originally gave him a cloak, but couldn't decide if he looked better with or without it. So he does have it, but only sometimes.

Sky

Is the wielder of the Dream Nail, which can be used to cure infected bugs by purging the Radiance from their dream's.

Has wanted to learn to fight with a nail since he was little, and would practice his skills.

He learned about the Dream Nail after some of the moth tribe became infected. He left shortly after he learned this infection was spreading through Hallownest, with the goal of stopping it.

He isn't the only one that can use the Dream Nail, but is the one dubbed the "owner" of it.

And that's what I've got!

I didn't go much into Dark Link here, but would be happy to show some concepts I have for him as well if anybody is curious. I'm making him almost like a living version of the Radiance's infection, and is able to spread it from bug to bug without needing to access their dreams. This is mainly why I'm torn on having them leave Hallownest. If Dark Link could spread the infection to farther lands, or to keep him inside Hallownest and just spread it faster there.

I thought that using the Dream Nail was a good equivalent to the Master Sword here, so I just mashed them together, and a lot of the motivations for the chain trying to stop the infection is "I'm seeing this awful thing happen to these bugs that I don't want to see happen to others," with some small variations here and there.

I've been working on this for so long, I just want to share by bug boys. I would love to gush and ramble about them some more. I have stuff I want to do with this AU.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe au #lu time #lu twilight #lu warriors #lu four #lu wind #lu wild #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu sky #lu hollow knight au #willo art #willo art lu hollow knight

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unoislazy · 1 month ago

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Take A Break

Viktor x Reader (Part One)

Viktor doesn’t want you to be like him. You’re taking a break and you’re gonna like it.

A/N: Gonna let y'all in on a secret, this is a revamp of a very old fanfic i wrote years ago when arcane first came out. It's on an old account of mine on a different platform, not gonna mention which one, but it's still up if you can find it.

You were committed.

Committed to helping out Viktor in any way that you could. You were just an apprentice in the academy, technically you weren’t even supposed to be near Viktor when it came specifically to rankings, you should’ve been focusing on lesser issues.

But with Viktor it was different. You always admired his want to help people, the way he put his all into every project that he believed would benefit the people of the Undercity.

He saw in you the same passion to help, so he kept you around. He very quickly learned he also just enjoyed your company which made you the perfect lab partner when his original one, Jayce Talis, was no longer able to help as often. The two of you very quickly became good friends, great friends even. It is to be expected for two people who get along that also spend almost every waking hour of every single day together.

The ideas he held for the potential of HexTech and how it could help the people always warmed your heart. It gave you a new spark of inspiration every time he would rattle on about some new idea he had.

Because of these ideas, you wanted to put your all into helping him achieve his goal, even if that meant spending countless hours in the lab overnight. It became a habit of yours, unbeknownst to Viktor, as far as he was aware you just got to the lab really early in the morning and just left very late at night. It wasn’t until one day, he walked into the lab extremely early in the morning, having come up with an idea and wanting to test it out, and found you fast asleep on leaning against your workbench.

The soft clink of Viktor’s cane echoed throughout the room as he made his way over to you. He looked around at all the things you had written down, all the work you had accomplished, as well as the mess that your failed attempts had made. Once he finally got close enough to you, he had noticed the slightest bit of drool that had begun to collect atop your hand that you had resting under your face to give yourself some sort of cushion. He let out a soft chuckle at this before clearing his throat rather loudly.

This attempt to wake you didn’t work, so he tried again. Once that was also met with a fail, he tried once more, this time making sure to tap you on the shoulder with a bit of force. This finally managed to wake you as you shot up from your seat, almost falling back onto the floor from the sheer force you rose with.

“You know, sleeping in the lab… it isn’t exactly advised.” Viktor said in a teasing manner as you looked around frantically before your eyes landed on him. You sighed with relief, calming down as you finally figured out who it was that woke you.

“Viktor, it’s just you.” You said, a hand over your heart as you tried to almost manually lower your heart rate back to normal. The scare he gave you was almost enough to make you think you had entered cardiac arrest. He chuckled at your reaction before taking a seat on the stool next to you, his cane still in hand as he spoke,

“You’ve been busy I see. Find anything new?” He asked, interested in your developments. You sighed, this time not out of relief but instead out of disappointment.

“Nothing yet. I can’t seem to figure out exactly how these runes work. They just don’t make any sense. It's like learning a new language without a dictionary to go off of.” You said as you rested your head on your hand once again, now noticing the drool that you quickly wiped off.

“I see well, there's no sense in returning to it right away.” He said as his eyes drifted from you, down to the pile of papers that had been spread across your desk. Some of them were his, a lot of them were yours. He could easily tell they were yours by the random doodles you would have littered across the margins of your pages. Before meeting you he would’ve thought such a thing would be a waste of space, since then however, he finds it an endearing quirk of yours that he looks forward to seeing when he goes back to look over both of your notes.

“What? But I know there is a way to fix this. I just need to,” You began to explain, eager to finish the work you started only to be interrupted by a sigh from the thin man.

“Can’t believe I am the one saying this, you are overworking yourself.” He said, his face fairly blank of emotion as he spoke to you.

“I can’t believe you just said that either.” You said, your eyes widening slightly as you met his gaze. If anyone had room to talk about overworking oneself, it certainly was not Mr. HexTech number 2.

“Something new every day I suppose. As I said, sleeping in the lab is not advised.” He said with a shrug, one of his hands leaning on his crutch as he leaned a bit more forward, knowing you would still object.

“You’ve done it.” You, as he knew you would, objected.

“Well eh, I’m not exactly the best rule follower…” He retorted with a bit of strain towards the end of his sentence.

“So why should I be?” You asked.

“Because you need a break.” He responded in a lighthearted yet still somehow stern way. He was serious but he wasn’t mad, he knew better than anyone that it was hard for such a committed worker to finally take time to prioritize themself. Half the time he only took breaks because Heimerdinger told him to.

“But you-”

“Ah, no. This is not about me.” He interrupted again, holding a hand up to signal you to stop talking.

“But I-”

“A break.” He said, leaning forward.

“But-”

“A. Break.” He repeated, almost as if he was telling you to drop it, which in a very obvious way he was. You sighed once again, realizing you weren't going to win such an argument.

“Fine, yes I’ll take a break.” You finally agreed. You rolled your eyes before turning back to your desk, and resting back in the position you had once been in. You head of your hand and your eyes facing the ungodly amount of work you still had yet to finish.

“Good, now come with me.” He spoke quickly, getting up from his chair as if he had somewhere to be.

“What, why? Where are we going?” You questioned, propping yourself up as you watched the pale man walk around your desk towards the door before stopping to turn back and look at you.

“We are going to take a break.”

Confused by his words you felt you had no other choice but to get up and follow the strange yet intelligent man. Everything he did confused you, you could never confidently predict what he was going to do next, every time you thought you could he would just add another option to the board. Knowing better than to question him at this point, you stood up from your desk, taking a moment to stretch your limbs which had been held in the same position for hours.

In the process you hadn’t realized Viktor’s eyes had remained on you, taking in as much of your body as he could see whether he realized it or not. You then caught him staring and looked down at yourself, confused as to what he was looking at. Did you have some paper stuck to you?

“What?” You asked him, looking down at yourself before looking back up at him trying to figure out what exactly he could’ve been looking at. He seemed surprised, not just by your question, but also by the fact that he had been staring in the first place. It was a habit he had, but when directed at you it felt different for him… he didn’t know why but he wasn’t going to bother exploring that area of the unknown just yet.

“Nothing, follow me.” He responded quickly before turning back towards the door and hurriedly walking out.

You followed him out of the lab, closing the door behind you, and making your way into the very intricately decorated hallways of the academy. It was a place you prided yourself on being able to work at, they didn’t just accept anyone through their doors so the fact you made it this far, even just to be an apprentice, was something you would never let yourself forget.

Even so, sometimes just being an apprentice did sometimes diminish your excitement about working in such an extravagantly intelligent place. You wanted to do things, you wanted to make a difference, you wanted to help people, and oftentimes being stuck in the role of an apprentice didn’t guarantee much of anything.

That’s why you were so eager to help out Viktor. He saw potential in you and worked upon it, he gave you things to do and actually valued your opinion when working on projects. He made you feel seen more than anyone else in the academy had at this point.

You hadn’t noticed him looking over his shoulder at you once again, watching as your eyes traced the design of each pillar that littered the hallway before smiling a little to himself.

“This way.” He spoke up, grabbing your attention quickly as he turned down a hallway and towards the main doors leading out of the academy.

“Where are we going?” You asked, now walking alongside him.

“You will see.”

“Do you ever give any straight answers?”

“You’ve been around me this long and still don’t know the answer to that?” He teased back with a smile on his face, it caused you to laugh slightly as you rolled your eyes.

“So that’s a strong no.” You laughed to which he shrugged.

Before long he brought you to a place that was rather secluded, in fact, you hadn’t even known it existed. It was, for lack of a better term, a hole in the wall outlooking the water that sat between Piltover and Zaun. It was quite nice as the sun glittered across the water giving it a twinkle that you could really only see from certain angles. It was only then did you realize how long you had fallen asleep in the lab, it was already midday.

Viktor took a seat on the ledge, looking to you to join him, which you did. You were a bit hesitant at first as the drop was quite a far one, but eventually you made your way and sat down properly. There was still enough distance between you and Viktor that it wasn’t uncomfortable as you both looked out at the view.

“How did you find this place?” You asked, looking over to him as he leaned against the wall next to him. There was a certain look in his eye that you couldn’t quite place, almost melancholic, maybe even nostalgic as he looked out at the water.

He shrugged a bit before dragging his eyes away from the water to look at you.

“I’ve always known about it. I come to relax or think, which Is part of what I think you need right now.” He said with a smile as he leaned back on the ledge a bit with his arms behind him.

You nodded before looking back out at the view before you.

You both stayed quiet for a little, just enjoying each other's company as you listened to the sounds around you. You thought it would’ve been awkward to just sit in silence with him but you were actually surprisingly really comfortable with it. You couldn’t help but wonder why he even bothered bringing you out here, if anything wouldn’t it be more important to just get you back to work as quickly as possible. So you asked,

“Hey Viktor?” You began, to which the man responded with a gentle hum, letting you know he was listening even if he wasn’t looking in your direction.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“So you can have a break.”

You sighed and shook your head knowing he was so straightforward that you had to spell things out for him sometimes.

“Yeah, I know that part but… why? Why let me have a break when this work is so important to you?”

His eyes left the scene before him before looking back towards you. A new emotion behind them that you couldn’t quite place, but it looked much more lively than the melancholic look he had before.

“Jeopardizing people you care about is not worth the sake of a project.”

His words seemed to almost float in the air for a moment before sinking in as you looked at him. He was serious about what he had said but it seemed like he hadn’t intended to say something so heavy hitting, but Viktor wasn’t exactly a sugar coater. He didn’t like to dance around the edge of things, if he had something on his mind he would say it.

But he saw your reaction and realized that maybe this once he should dial back his full passion towards everything.

“Eh, and besides, what good would it do me if my assistant was falling asleep on my all the time.” He joked a bit as he nudged you with his elbow. You smiled at him a bit, appreciating his words before looking down once again.

“This is nice.” You said quietly with a smile, now looking down at your hands which were resting on your lap.

“Perhaps this means you will take a break more often?” He asks, leaning a bit forward as he looks towards you.

“Perhaps it does.” You said, your smile remaining.

#unoislazy #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #xreader fanfic #viktor arcane #jayce x viktor #viktor league of legends #viktor lol #viktor x reader #arcane x you #fanfic arcane #arcane x gender neutral reader #arcane x reader #arcane fanfic #arcane #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane x you

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eu-nicola · 30 days ago

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children's fight

summary: your disdain for Lando was no secret. You didn’t hate him, but there was something about him that you just couldn’t stand.

warnings: nothing

word counter: 5282

author's note: english is not my first language

Formula 1 had always been more than a hobby for you; it was a passion, an obsession. You had grown up watching races, studying statistics and learning every detail of the circuits. However, it wasn’t just the sport that fascinated you, but the drivers. And for you, Max Verstappen was the best. His talent, his relentless determination and his ability to handle any situation on the track had made him your favourite since he joined the grid. So, when the current season became a tug-of-war between Max and Lando Norris, there was no question about which side you were on.

Your disdain for Lando was no secret. You didn’t hate him, but there was something about him that you just couldn’t stand. His arrogant attitude whenever things didn’t go his way, his constant need for attention and his immaturity were unbearable to you. And even more so now, when he acted like he was on Max’s level, when, in your eyes, he wasn’t. He was a good driver, sure, but he didn’t have the mentality or experience to win a championship. That frustrated you, especially since every time he lost, he complained instead of accepting that he still had some way to go.

One day, thanks to your “job” (it was more of an internship) as a freelance sports journalist, you had the chance to attend a private event for Formula 1 media in Monaco. It was an intimate dinner with several drivers and some sponsors, a sort of social pre-season that promised exclusive access to the stars of motorsport. You couldn’t believe it when you received the invitation. Although you had covered races before, you had never been so close to the drivers in such a relaxed atmosphere.

The evening started well. You met up with other well-known journalists, shared a couple of glasses of wine and spoke to some members of the technical teams. Everything seemed perfect, until you saw him. Lando Norris.

He was surrounded by a small group of people, talking and laughing as if he owned the room. From afar, his voice rang out with a carefree tone that others found charming, but to you it sounded condescending. His wide gestures and constant laughter reminded you exactly why you weren’t a fan of him.

You decided to ignore him and continue enjoying the night, but fate had other plans. During dinner, you were assigned a spot right in front of him at the head table. You tried to remain professional, even though the situation made you uncomfortable.

“And you?” Lando asked after a while, addressing you directly as he smiled with overflowing confidence. “Do you have a favorite pilot, or are you one of those who say you love them all equally?”

The comment, while seemingly harmless, made you roll your eyes internally. You had heard other journalists succumb to his charm, but you weren’t going to fall for it.

“I have one, yes,” you replied, keeping your tone neutral but direct. “Max Verstappen.”

For a second, Lando’s smile faltered, then came back stronger.

“Oh, yeah?” he said, leaning forward with a curious look. “Interesting choice. Why him?”

You took a deep breath before answering, trying to stay calm.

“He’s the most complete driver I’ve seen in years. His ability to adapt to any situation on the track is impressive, and he doesn’t give up no matter the circumstances.”

“And you think I can’t do that?” Lando replied, raising an eyebrow. Although he was still smiling, there was a defiant tone in his tone.

“I think you still have a lot to prove,” you replied bluntly, feeling the atmosphere at the table tense slightly.

Lando laughed, but this time his laugh sounded somewhat forced.

“Wow, straight to the point. This year will be different.” I’m ready to prove that I have what it takes to win.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you took a sip from your wine glass, watching him with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. You knew you could have been more diplomatic, but there was something about him that just pushed you to confront him.

The conversation turned to other topics, but the initial exchange hung in the air like a charged cloud of electricity.

Dinner continued, but the tension between you and Lando was undeniable. Every time he spoke or laughed, you felt your nerves fray. His voice seemed to boom louder than anyone else’s at the table, as if he was deliberately trying to get everyone’s attention. The worst part was that it worked. Every comment he made drew laughter and nods from everyone else, which only made your irritation grow.

You tried to focus on the conversation with the person sitting to your right, a journalist you'd known for a while, but every few minutes you found yourself glancing at Lando. It wasn't a look of curiosity, but of analysis. You wanted to understand what everyone saw in him, why he found it so easy to charm others while you found him so insufferable.

Of course, Lando was quick to notice your glances, and every time he did, he responded with a smile that seemed designed to provoke you. It was the kind of smile that said: I know you don't like me, but I don't care.

The rest of the dinner passed in a mix of awkward and disdainful glances. Every time your eyes met Lando's, it seemed like the two of you were fighting some kind of silent battle. He kept smiling with that carefree air, while you kept a neutral expression that perfectly hid the irritation you felt inside.

When dessert was finally served, you were counting down the minutes until the evening was over. But just when you thought you could escape without any more confrontation, Lando stood up and walked around the table, stopping right next to you.

“It’s been interesting meeting you,” he said with that smile that now seemed permanent on his face. “I hope you enjoy following my season as much as you enjoy following Max’s.”

His tone was light, but the challenge in his words was clear. Before you could respond, he had already walked away.

The next day dawned with a fresh and promising air. You had a busy schedule: interviews with some of the best drivers on the grid at one of the most important promotional events before the start of the season. Although you knew it would be an exhausting day, you were also looking forward to it. Talking to drivers, hearing their perspectives, and writing about them was one of the reasons you loved your job.

The morning started off calmly. You arrived early, dressed in a smart but functional outfit, with a notepad in hand and a professional smile on your face. The interview room was decorated with the logos of the teams and sponsors, and a row of cameras and lights was already ready to capture every word of the drivers.

The first interviews went smoothly. You spoke to George Russell, who always had a calm and polite charisma. Then to Carlos Sainz, who never failed to make you laugh with his anecdotes. Even Charles Leclerc, with his easy-going charm, made you feel comfortable. Everything was going well. You were professional, respectful, and although you weren't a fan of all the drivers, you knew how to maintain the balance between admiration and objective analysis.

But you knew that eventually you would have to interview Lando Norris. And, to be honest, you were dreading it.

When the time came, you saw Lando approach the small area where you conducted your interviews. He was dressed in his McLaren uniform, his hair perfectly messy and a relaxed smile on his face. From afar, he seemed unconcerned, but when his eyes met yours, you noticed a flash of recognition. He knew this wasn’t going to be just any interview.

“Hi,” he greeted, extending his hand to you with professionalism. “Ready when you are.”

You took a deep breath, accepted his handshake, and nodded. You decided to approach the interview as usual: direct, objective, and with questions that went beyond the standard answers.

“Lando, this season promises to be one of the most competitive in recent years. Considering your progress in the last few races, how are you preparing to stay consistent in the fight against more experienced drivers?”

His smile didn’t falter.

“Good question,” he said, leaning forward slightly as he answered confidently. “I think the key is to keep a cool head and trust the work we’ve done as a team. At the end of the day, it all comes down to who can take advantage of opportunities when they present themselves.”

The conversation flowed naturally, though you could sense a slight tension in the air. Lando was adept at answering, but it was also evident that he was measuring each word, as if he was making sure not to give you cause to criticize him further. You, for your part, remained neutral, asking pointed questions and avoiding any comments that could be interpreted as personal.

Towards the end of the interview, you decided to broach the subject of your rivalry with Max.

“Speaking of taking advantage of opportunities, your battle with Max Verstappen last season was one of the most talked about. How do you describe that dynamic?”

Lando held your gaze for a moment longer than necessary before answering.

“Max is a great driver, that is not up for discussion,” he replied, keeping his tone casual. “But I think this year will show who is really ready to fight for a championship. I am ready for that challenge, and I have no doubt that I can compete at the same level.”

“Interesting,” you commented, taking note of his response. But something in his tone made you purse your lips, as if he were issuing a veiled challenge, not only to Max, but to you as well.

The interview ended with a handshake and an exchange of tense smiles. From the outside, anyone would have thought that the two of you had been completely professional. And, technically, they had been. But inside, you knew the spark of disagreement was still alive.

The off-camera confrontation

Later, as you reviewed your notes and waited your turn for the next interview, you felt a presence behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Are you always this harsh in your interviews or just with me?” Lando asked, his tone light but with a challenging undertone.

You turned your head towards him, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m doing my job. If I seem harsh to you, maybe you should review how you respond.”

Lando let out a soft laugh, leaning slightly towards you.

“I think what’s really going on is that you can’t stand the fact that you don’t like me.”

You crossed your arms, keeping your cool.

“It has nothing to do with that. I’m not here to like you or not, Lando. I’m here to do my job, and I think I did a pretty good job.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” he replied, his smile fading slightly as he studied you intently. “But don’t pretend that I don’t bother you. It’s obvious. I saw it last night, and I see it now.”

His bluntness took you by surprise, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you held his gaze.

“If you’re so worried about what I think, maybe you should focus more on proving what you say on the track.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but then he smiled again, this time with something more genuine, as if your answer had amused him.

“You know what?” “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun this year,” he said before turning and walking away, leaving you with a mix of irritation and something you couldn’t quite place.

Later, when the interviews started being posted as teasers on social media, you thought you could relax for a while. You’d done a good job: professional, direct, and not letting your personal opinions creep into your questions. At least, that’s what you thought.

You were in your hotel room, reviewing your notes for the article you’d be publishing the next day. Meanwhile, your phone was constantly buzzing with notifications. You decided to ignore them at first, assuming they were just alerts for posts related to the day’s event. But when the sound became incessant, something inside you told you to take a look.

You unlocked your phone, and as soon as you opened Instagram, your worst fears were confirmed. There was a featured video on the event’s official account: your interview with Lando Norris. The clip, though brief, perfectly captured the tensions you had tried to conceal.

“Lando Norris: ‘I think this year will see who is really ready to challenge for a championship.’”

The camera then panned to you, raising an eyebrow and responding with a neutral but firm:

“Interesting.”

There was nothing inherently out of place in the exchange, but the comments told another story.

—Is it just me or is there tension between them?

—The way she looks at him… ugh, that’s pure disdain.

—What if there’s something else behind this? 👀

—She’s clearly not a Lando fan. #TeamMax.

—This feels like the beginning of a rom-com, but with cars.

You frowned, scrolling through the comments. There were dozens of memes accompanying screenshots of the video. On Twitter, things weren’t any better.

One user had posted:

“Her: ‘I’m completely professional.’ Also her: throws an invisible dagger at Lando with her eyes.”

The tweet was accompanied by a picture of you crossing your arms during the interview while Lando answered one of your questions.

Another said:

“The tension is so thick you could cut it with a rear spoiler.”

Though you tried hard not to let it affect you, a mix of embarrassment and frustration began to settle in your chest. You hadn't done anything wrong. You'd kept your composure, you'd been professional... or had you? You began to doubt yourself. Maybe your dislike for Lando had been more apparent than you thought.

The final straw was a meme someone had made with a picture of Lando smiling nonchalantly and a screenshot of you looking at him with a slightly skeptical expression. The caption read:

“Her: ‘I'm impartial.’

Also her: ‘Max > Lando any day.’

You couldn't help but let out a sarcastic laugh, even though you weren't amused by the situation.

The Unexpected Message

Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, your phone vibrated again, but this time it was a direct message on Instagram. It was from someone you weren't expecting.

Lando Norris:

“Looks like we're trending. Did you plan this too, or am I just the one who knows how to get everyone's attention?”

You felt a rush of heat rise up your neck. This boy's audacity knew no bounds. You took a deep breath before replying:

You:

"Don't blame me for other people's interpretations."

The reply was not long in coming.

Lando Norris:

"Looks like you and I make a good team when it comes to talking heads. Maybe we should take advantage of it.”

You pursed your lips, deliberating whether to continue or leave it on read. But something about his message made you feel like this “rivalry” wasn’t going to end anytime soon. Between the memes, the comments, and Lando’s brashness, you knew this story was just beginning.

You put your phone away with a sigh, but the feeling of unease didn’t go away. Now you not only had to deal with your animosity towards Lando, but also with the fact that the entire world seemed to enjoy watching them go at each other. And the worst part of all? Lando seemed to be enjoying it more than anyone else.

The days following the social media controversy were strange, as if you were navigating in a limbo between unwanted attention and trying to get back to your routine. You decided to stay as far away from the public eye as possible. Although you still fulfilled your responsibilities, you were very careful in choosing how and when to participate. You made sure to delegate trackside interviews to your peers and limit your interaction with the drivers to a minimum. essential.

After the race, when it was time to travel to the next venue, your strategy remained: low profile. The paddock, normally vibrant with conversations, interviews and the energy that a new race brings, became a place where you moved with calculated precision. You appeared only when absolutely necessary: at official photo shoots, on TV broadcasts, and always with a perfectly practiced smile.

You focused on other parts of your job, immersing yourself in writing articles, checking statistics and contributing behind the scenes. Moments of visibility were strategic, just enough to fulfil your responsibilities and avoid any unnecessary encounters. This involved coordinating with your colleagues to take on interviews with specific drivers. And, of course, among those names was always Lando Norris.

Despite your efforts to remain invisible to him, the paddock was a small place, and it wasn't always possible to avoid crossing paths with certain people. When this happened, you forced yourself to maintain your composure. You walked past him with your head held high, as if you hadn't seen him. You walked confidently, not allowing any flicker of discomfort to show on your face. But there was always that feeling, as if you felt his gaze briefly on you.

Lando, for his part, seemed busy with his own thing. He was immersed in his work, fulfilling his own commitments: meetings with the team, interviews with the press, promotional events. From the outside, he seemed completely focused on his world, almost as if the tension between you had never existed. You barely noticed any reaction from him, and that bothered you more than you were willing to admit.

There were fleeting moments, though. When you walked across the paddock with your notes in hand or passed him in the hospitality halls, you could feel his eyes on you for an instant. It wasn’t a lingering, inquisitive glance, more of a casual glance, as if he recognized you and then went on with his business.

Days turned into weeks, and the dynamic continued the same. You were both in the same place, but walking different paths. You avoided any direct interaction, and he, apparently, had no interest in seeking it out. However, social media remained attentive. Every time a photo from the paddock showed the two of you in the same place, even if it was meters away, the comments would come:

—“Look, there they are again! Is it a coincidence?”

—“They don’t interact, but I bet there’s some tension in the air.”

—“Lando seems indifferent, but she looks so serious. I’m intrigued by all this.”

Even though you tried to ignore it, you couldn’t help but see the posts. The speculations never stopped, but you remained firm in your decision not to let this interfere with your work.

For his part, Lando continued to move forward with his life in the paddock. His focus was on racing, media, and strategies to stay competitive. If he thought about you, he didn’t show it openly. But at times, when he was sitting in the hospitality area reviewing data or preparing for an interview, his mind wandered. He remembered the exchange of glances, the interview that had become a trend, and those brief moments when he saw you passing by. However, those thoughts were fleeting; he quickly dismissed them and returned to focusing on his work.

Despite your best efforts to stay under the radar and avoid Lando Norris, fate – or perhaps the small size of the paddock – seemed hell-bent on crossing paths with you. Grand Prix days became an awkward dance between keeping up appearances and trying not to explode in frustration. And, to be fair, Lando did nothing to make things better.

The issues started small, barely noticeable, but over time, the friction became more and more apparent, both to you and to those around you.

It all started with a seemingly insignificant moment at a press conference. You were sitting among the journalists, ready to take notes and prepare intelligent questions for various drivers. Lando was on the panel that day alongside Max and two other drivers. When it was your turn to ask, you asked a simple but direct question about his qualifying performance – completely standard fare.

The way Lando answered, however, made it clear: he wasn’t interested in being cooperative with you.

His answers were short, almost cutting, and his tone, though not explicitly hostile, had a hint of mockery. When he finished answering, he sketched an almost imperceptible smile, as if he knew exactly how he was affecting you. Some journalists exchanged glances, surprised by the exchange. You, with an impassive face, continued writing in your notebook as if nothing had happened.

However, in the hallways later, you heard one of your colleagues whisper:

—It seems that Lando has something personal with her.

The next brush came during a recording for a special program. You were in a small dressing room preparing your presentation when Lando burst in unannounced. He was wearing his team uniform and seemed to be looking for something.

“Excuse me, is this yours?.” he asked dryly, holding a wireless microphone that someone had left there.

Before you could answer, he added:

“Oh, right, you probably just need a pen and a notebook.”

You froze for a second, processing the sentence. Although it wasn't necessarily an insult, the tone was clearly meant to belittle you.

"Not all of us need a car to feel important, Norris," you finally said, with a tight smile, as you walked past him to leave the dressing room.

It was an impulsive comment, but the expression on his face was reward enough. However, the incident made it clear that neither of you were willing to take a step back.

The friction began to be noticed in public as well. When you walked through the paddock and passed by Lando, you couldn't help but feel his gaze fixed on you, even if it was only for a second. You did the same, a kind of silent challenge. They weren't neutral glances; they were loaded with tension, with something deeper than simple antipathy.

There were times when he made sure to occupy strategic spaces, as if he were looking to make you uncomfortable. If you were in the McLaren team hospitality to interview an engineer or driver, Lando would casually wander over, interrupting the conversation with unnecessary comments or jokes that weren’t quite jokes.

When this happened, you kept your composure as best you could, but your answers were always just as sharp. The atmosphere became so awkward that even other team members noticed the dynamic and were quick to jump in.

The final straw came during a charity event organized by Formula 1. You were assigned to cover the event, and Lando was one of the featured drivers. At one point in the show, while the drivers were participating in a trivia game, someone mentioned the incident on social media that had made them trending weeks earlier.

Lando didn’t pass up the opportunity to make a comment:

“Well, it seems I have a talent for bringing out the best in people, even when they don’t get along with me.”

The audience laughed immediately, but you felt the ground fall out from under your feet. Although his tone was seemingly light, the hint was clear.

Later, when the event was over, you approached the press officer and asked to change assignments to avoid covering any segment where Lando was involved. However, you knew it wouldn't be easy. The tension between you two was no longer a secret, and the more you tried to avoid it, the more it seemed like the universe was conspiring to keep you two crossing paths.

Despite the issues, neither of you were willing to back down. The relationship between you was like a rope stretched to the limit, ready to snap at any moment.

The tension between you and Lando had reached such an absurd point that, to any outside observer, it looked more like a schoolyard fight than a professional dispute between two adults. Although you both had legitimate reasons for your mutual displeasure, the way you handled the situation was anything but mature.

With those little passive-aggressive acts that seemed straight out of the angry child's handbook.

Things between you and Lando were far from calming down. The taunts and teases kept piling up like a snowball, and even though you tried to ignore it, there was something about him that you couldn't help but hate... and at the same time, something that pushed you to challenge him. But after that last race, things took a different turn.

It was an exciting race, one that kept everyone on the edge of their seats. Lando had won, and the paddock was in a party mood. Teams, drivers, media, and even sponsors gathered at a fancy club to celebrate. Although you weren’t particularly a fan of such gatherings, attending was part of your job, so you got ready, picked out a dress that was stylish enough but comfortable, and headed to the event.

The club was packed, with dim lights and vibrant music filling the air. Drivers and team members toasted the day’s achievements, while others immersed themselves in lively conversations or danced carefree. The energy was contagious, and, for a moment, you allowed yourself to relax.

You were chatting with a couple of colleagues when you noticed Lando walk in. His presence was unmistakable: he walked with that confidence that used to irritate you, surrounded by some of his team members and other drivers who congratulated him effusively. He wore a dark shirt, unbuttoned just enough to look comfortable but effortless, and his winning smile was so wide it almost seemed to dare anyone to question him.

Your eyes met for a brief moment. You looked away quickly, determined not to ruin your evening by thinking about him.

As the evening progressed, a man approached you. He was one of the marketing guys for a team, someone you had exchanged words with at previous events. Tall, pleasant-looking, and clearly interested in you, he began to chat with you in a friendly manner.

The talk was light, but interesting. He asked questions about your job, joked about the tensions of the paddock, and made you laugh with witty comments. Although you weren’t looking for anything romantic, you enjoyed the attention. There was nothing wrong with letting yourself get carried away in the moment after stress-filled weeks.

Without realizing it, the distance between you shortened. The man leaned in toward you as he spoke, and you responded with animated nods. From the outside, anyone might have thought there was more than just conversation going on.

Lando was leaning against the bar, a drink in his hand and surrounded by a few friends. From where he stood, he had a clear view of you and the man you were talking to. At first, he didn't pay too much attention to it; after all, it wasn't his business. But, as the minutes passed and he saw you laughing and looking at him, something inside him began to boil.

The feeling was annoying, almost irrational. He didn't understand why he cared, but he couldn't help but feel a slight tingle of irritation at seeing you so comfortable with someone else. It wasn't jealousy, or at least that's what he told himself. It was… what? Frustration? Spite? Whatever it was, it wouldn't leave him alone.

He decided to ignore it, taking a long drink from his drink and returning to his conversation. But every time he saw you from the corner of his eye, his concentration evaporated.

At some point, you decided to move to the bar to order a drink, and the man followed you. As you waited for your drink, you felt a presence beside you. You turned, and there was Lando, leaning against the bar with his typical relaxed expression, though his eyes seemed darker than usual.

He didn’t say anything, but the air between you immediately tensed. His eyes briefly rested on the man next to you before returning to you, assessing you.

Though no words were exchanged, the message was clear: he didn’t like what he was seeing. His jaw was slightly clenched, and his fingers drummed against the bar as if he were trying to hold something back. You, far from being intimidated, lifted your chin and held his gaze.

When you received your drink, you turned to the man and resumed the conversation as if Lando wasn’t there, although you felt his eyes burning into your back.

A little while later, you were on the dance floor with some friends. The music was lively enough to relax you, and although you weren’t the best dancer, you were enjoying the moment. Suddenly, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Turning around, you found yourself facing Lando.

There was something in his expression that seemed challenging, as if he were testing you. He looked you straight in the eyes and bluntly extended his hand. “Would you like to dance?”

You knew exactly what he was doing.

“No.” Was your dry, unwavering response.

The rejection seemed to surprise him, though he tried not to show it. A slight smile formed on his face, as if he were mocking your refusal, but there was a glint in his eyes that betrayed his irritation.

Without another word, Lando lowered his hand and turned around, returning to the bar. You went back to dancing, though you couldn't ignore the feeling that his eyes were still fixed on you from a distance.

Later, while you were dancing with some friends, you noticed him again. This time, he was in the center of a group, laughing and joking, but somehow he always ended up in your line of vision. It was as if he was making sure you saw him enjoying himself.

And you noticed. You knew he was upset, and you couldn't deny that it gave you a certain satisfaction. Maybe you even exaggerated your attitude towards the man a little, leaning towards him and smiling more than necessary. If Lando wanted to play, so could you.

The game continued for the rest of the night, a silent war that neither of you was willing to give in to. There were no words, but the looks and gestures said more than either of you were willing to admit.

When the party ended, you left feeling like you had won, though you knew Lando wouldn’t let this go easily. For his part, he was left with a mix of irritation and confusion, wondering why you let yourself be affected by him so much… and why he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

#fanfic #oneshot #imagine #x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #lando norris #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1

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cressidagrey · 2 months ago

Text

It's a Love Story - Chapter 8

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible. Racism against Illyrians/Lesser Faes?

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Sky didn’t have much of a temper.

Even if she was frustrated or annoyed, she rarely got angry or lost her patience.

It wasn't that she didn't have emotions. She did. She felt things deeply, passionately. However, she also believed that there was no point in wasting energy on getting angry. It didn't solve anything. It only made things worse.

So Sky had learned a very, very long time ago…that there was no need to start screaming, because her stutter didn’t allow her that anyway…and that maybe…maybe it was easier for her to just let go off her anger about being unfairly treated.

Getting angry wouldn’t help her.

That day however…it burst out of her. Burst out of her like somebody had lanced an abscess.

Her family could say whatever they wanted about her. But they were not going to say a single word about Azriel

It was Winter Solstice.

Azriel and her had spent the last month or so enjoying winter season in Velaris…even once trying to ice skate on their lake, which only ended with him kissing her skinned knees, because she was definitely not a natural at it.

They had bought Winter Solstice gifts, and baked cookies…had decorated their house with pine garlands and velvet ribbons…

She had knitted them socks and they had made rabbit stews out of rabbits Azriel had hunted in the forest behind their house. (It was…she had never really seen him as a warrior, even when he wore these black leathers and the blue stone that glinted off him…but she could see him as a hunter, when he came home with a couple of rabbits, ready for dinner. It had also resulted in a new fur lined blanket for her, all ready on the couch.

She had never outright asked…but he seemd to like it when she was cuddled beneath it, like it seemed to soothe some kind of instinct for him. Maybe the fact that it was the animal he had hunted?)

Sky and Azriel had both made the decision to spend the days with their respective families and have their own Solstice celebrations the next day…that would pretty much sonsits out of a lazy day in bed and nothing else.

It sounded amazing. Just what they wanted.

And it had made sense to celebrate like that. She hadn’t wanted to be the one to keep him from his family after all, even if the thought of not spending Solstice with her mate had hurt more than she wanted to admit.

Azriel had been up ridiculous easily in the morning for a snowball fight that was apparently tradition…but not before he had spent a good half hour making her scream his name with his mouth between her thighs…

Afterwards, she had gotten dressed and left the shadows to amuse Hector for the day… and Sky had left to help her mother with dinner preparations.

A nice, quiet family dinner. Nothing more and nothing less.

That’s what it was supposed to be. They didn’t even get that far.

It all went to shit before dinner was even in the oven.

From the moment she entered her parents house it was a barrage of barbed comments. About her appearance, her stutter, her lack of an boyfriend…her lack of a proper job. (Sellyn Drake was hers. Sellyn Drake was nothing they got to gossip about.)

Sky had bitten her tongue. She had ignored the comments, tried to enjoy herself. But Claire never knew when enough was enough.

Her sister kept at it. Kept needling, jabbing at Sky until the little bubbles of anger popped to the surface and boiled into something…bigger.

“I…I met my m…mate,” Sky finally said flatly, after anther jab at her lack of a boyfriend.

Take that Claire. Not just a fiance. A mate.

Finally in just one thing Sky had been faster than her sister.

A mate. That mystical rare mating bond had been a gift from the other for her and not for Claire.

It caught Claire off guard. She stopped pacing, and turned to look at her sister, brow raised. The look said ‘Oh is that so?’ as if it was the kind of nonsense she had come to expect from her.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed, clearly not believing a word Sky said.

But Sky wasn’t going to let this go. “His n..name is Azriel,” Sky said with a smile. “We are ver…very hap…happy.”

They were. They were so happy. So delightfully happy. (So delightfully happy that Sky had been wondering if maybe…maybe the should start trying. High Fae fertility was hit or miss anyway…why shouldn’t they simply start trying and see where it would take them. And if it took two decades, then it took two decades. If it only took a year or three…well, then they were lucky.)

Claire narrowed her eyes. She was about to say something mean, Sky could see it in the way her lip curled up.

“He…He's a g…good male,” she said firmly, cutting Claire off before she got the chance to spew out anything else.

Claire laughed. It was a harsh, biting sound.

"A good male? Really, Sky?" she sneered. "You actually fell for that line?"

It wasn’t a line. It was the truth.

Azriel was a good male. Patient and intense and loving. He had never raised a single finger against her.Azriel would never hurt her intentionally.

Claire just wanted to belittle Sky in front of their whole family.

"You must be even more naive than you seem if you believe that," she said, almost pityingly. "You really think he wants you? That he actually cares about you? Nobody could want you. I bet he just pities you."

It should have hurt her, she realised. It would have. Even just months ago, it would have hurt her.

But right now…right now it didn’t really.

She was supposed to believe that Azriel didn’t want her? The same male that had spent the better part of an hour on his knees in front of her that very morning, eating her out like a starved male? She was supposed that her mate, who’s arousal shot across the bond like an inferno any time she slipped off her clothes, didn’t want her? That the same male that stared at her like she was a goddess, that spent hours worshipping her body with his hands…that she had nearly made come simply by touching his wings a few days ago didn’t want her?

Still…Claire's words had their effect. She felt a small stab of doubt in her heart, and she hated it. She hated that her sister could still hurt her like this, still make her feel like that insecure little girl who stuttered and couldn't get a single word right.

“He…He l…loves me and I…I love him,” Sky said calmly.

That was clear in every single one of his actions, in every single word.

“Where did you even meet him?” Sky’s mother demanded. “And what kind of name is Azriel?”

“In…In a bar. Wh…When we went out for Cl..Claire’s Hen Do. And I im…imagine it’s an Il…illyrian name.”

Everything ground to a halt.

“He’s Illyrian?!” Her mother demanded sharply. “What’s wrong with you, Skylar!”

Sky flinched at her tone. It was harsh, angry. It was the same tone she'd always used when Sky was younger and got anything wrong or stepped out of line.

"Yes, he's Il…Illlyrian," she said, meeting her mother's gaze levelly. "What's…what’s wrong with that?" she asked.

She knew that her family wasn’t the…most open about Lesser Faes, but…but that hatred in her mother’s voice….she hadn’t expected that.

“Everything,” Admon gave back with a snort. “You seriously let that barbarian fuck you? I am surprised you actually survived that and he didn’t just rip you apart.”

Every bit of colour leeched out of her face, except her ruddy red cheeks at these crude words.

This was Admon. Once upon a time, she had wanted to marry him. To have his children. To spent her life with him.

And…and this was what he told her to her face.

“I can’t believe that you even let a creature like him touch you,” her mother breathed staring at her with utter disgust.

“He’...He’s not a cre…creature,” Sky bit out. Azriel was her mate.

“Is it true by the way?” Her brother wondered. “That Illyrian’s have a cat’s prick?”

"Orin!" her mother exclaimed, aghast. "Don't be vulgar! I don't want to know."

Orin shrugged, a smirk dancing across his face. "What? I’m just curious. I am sure Skylar knows. She must please him somehow when she’s still alive to enjoy their…couplings.”

Sky felt ill. She didn't know what to say, what to say in defense of the man she loved. She couldn't get a word out.

“Did you…did you let it touch you?” Her father demanded finally, his voice icy.

It. Not even him. It. Like Azriel was a thing.

Sky felt her heart drop to the floor, breaking into pieces.

"Yes," she admitted, her voice barely audible.

Her father's face grew stony, and he took a step closer to her.

“How dare you?” he hissed. "How could you let a monster touch you like that?"

"He's not a monster!" Sky protested, her voice rising. "He's…He’s k…kind and gen…gentle, and-"

“And I am sure, he keeps you stuffed with his cat prick to keep you satisfied,” Claire drawled.

And Sky was done.

Somehow that was the last straw.

Somehow that made something inside her break, irreparable.

It snipped away every thread that ever kept her close to the family that she had been born into.

“At least I didn’t need to take my sister’s sl…sloppy s…seconds,” Sky said, her voice flat, meeting her gaze full on.“And yes, Azriel more than keeps me s…satisfied.”

Silence descended over the room, the only sound the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. Sky felt the tension in the air grow heavier with each passing second.

"You…you didn’t just say that,” Claire said coldly. "You take that back, Sky.

Sky raised her chin defiantly. "No.” she said simply. “I'm…I’m not taking back the truth," she said, her voice ringing with unexpected steel.

"You do not speak to me like that," Claire hissed. "You have no right—"

Something inside Sky snapped. Years of frustration, years of feeling invisible and ignored, years of enduring Claire's taunts and jibes all bubbled to the surface.

"I…I have ev…every right," she shot back, her heart pounding in her chest. “Not so fun when you are on the re…receiving end, is it?”

“Either you end your…dalliance with…that creature, or you are no daughter of mine,” her father snapped.

He talked to her like she was nothing. Like she was worth less than dirt beneath his boots.

And somehow that made it even easier.

“You want me to turn away my mate…for what? This?” She asked him, cocking her head to the side. .

"For the sake of our family’s reputation," her father said. "You are an embarrassment to us all by associating with that…lesser fae barbarian.”

Barbarian. Lesser Fae. Thing. Creature. Monster.

All of that said about the male she loved. About her mate.

“He’s Illyrian,” Sky said, her voice icy.

“Oh come off it,” “Orin snapped. “He’s lesser fae. The only thing they are good for is being fodder for the armies during war times. Other than that, they are worthless.”

Fodder.

“We have Lesser Fae ancestry ourself,” Sky responded icily. “Our great grandmother was a River Nymph.”

"That was a long time ago," her father interrupted sharply. "It was one ancestor generations ago. And besides, her blood was not that strong to begin with."

Sky thought back to the eyes that looked back from her mirror each day. Blue and beautiful. The one trace of her that got passed down to her.

"Maybe it was her blood that made you think that opening your legs for that creature was in any way appropriate," her mother hissed.

And suddenly it was so easy.

“Azriel is my mate,” she hissed. “I will al…always chose him over you. You can spew what..whatever insult you want about him or his pe…peoople. He’s still a bet…better male than any of you could ever hope to be, has treated me better than any of you. I’ll gladly no longer be your daughter.”

She felt the sting of tears running down her cheeks, but she didn't try to wipe them away. She just stared back at her family, daring them to say more. There was a short moment of silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

She should have expected it. Her mother had always been quick to slap her if she did anything anything that she didn’t like.

Just this time…her hand didn’t make contact.

Sky stared at the tendril of shadows that jerked her mother’s hand back, having suddenly appeared.

*You. Will. Not. Lay. A. Finger. On. Her,* the shadows hissed menacingly.

Sky stared at the shadows, her eyes widening in shock. They were angry. No. Furious. Utterly and completely furious. Her mother seemed equally taken aback, her hand still outstretched in the air where the shadows had stopped her.

Orin looked like he was about to piss himself, and her father…her father stared at the shadows, his face ashen.

“Come here,” Sky said quietly.

The shadows left her mother to come swarming to her, brushing over her cheek in greeting before wrapping themselves around her neck in a clearly possessive move.

Sky felt the familiar warmth of the shadows sink into her, a small bit of comfort in this awful situation. She turned to her family, her jaw set.

"I’m…I’m never coming back," she said, her voice quiet but resolute. And with that, she turned and walked away, She had only taken a handful of steps when she stopped and turned back, one last thing needing to be said, before she closed the door on this chapter of her life forever.

"I never want to see any of you again," she said, her voice shaking only slightly. "And when we have children, don’t you dare come and ask to have anything to do with them. You don’t deserve to even breath the same air as my mate."

With that, she turned and walked away, her head held high.

***

Whatever went on between sky and her family…it wasn’t good. He could feel that in the bond slumbering underneath his breast bone.

He rubbed it absentmindly, staring in the flickering flame of the Birchin.

He had won that Snowball fight. Once more. One more victory to add to it. Not that he particularly cared right now.

*Is she alright?* he asked the shadows.

The shadows were…quiet. And that spoke volumes. Something wasn't right. Azriel's heart pounded against his chest, his instincts urging him to act. He had to make sure Sky was alright. He couldn't stand to think about her being in any sort of trouble.

*Physicallly unharmed,* the shadows promised. *Her family is horrible,* they told him distastefully.

Azriel's heart clenched at the shadow’s words. While it was a small relief that Sky wasn't physically hurt…her family being horrible made him want to grimace.

“Alright, I had it!” Cassian snapped at that moment. “What the fuck is going on with you two?”

Azriel turned to his brother, seeing Cassian watch Rhys and himself with an expression of…something. Exasperation maybe.

"What do you mean?" Azriel asked, his voice even, feigning ignorance. He was really not in the mood to get into that either. But apparently he wasn’t going to get that small bit of mercy.

"Don’t play dumb with me, brother," Cassian said, rolling his eyes. "You are both moody and more distant than usual. What the heck happened?"

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Azriel said flatly. Cassian rolled his eyes.

“Rhys?” Cassian demanded with a sigh.

“You want to explain or shall I?” Rhys addressed him and Azriel just looked at him flatly.

“You gave the orders, High Lord.”

If Azriel had been in a better mood, he would have smirked. But right now, he just wanted this whole conversation to be over so he could check on Sky. The thought of her made his chest ache. He longed to see her, to hold her, to make sure she's alright. But he knew that Cassian and Rhys wouldn’t let him go without an explanation.

“Azriel and I…had a disagreement about Elain.” Azriel just stared at Rhys blankly. Seriously, that was the best Rhys could come up with? That’s what he wanted to go with?!

"A disagreement?" Cassian asked, brows raised. "What kind of disagreement? A 'we came to an agreement' kind of disagreement, or a 'we punched each other in the face' disagreement?"

“A ‘Rhys sticks his nose into things that are none of his business’ disagreement,” Azriel gave back drily.

“Excuse me, you were going to kiss ELain while her mate was under the same roof two years ago. Did you ever even consider the political ramifications of that?” Rhys snapped. “For gods sake, Azriel!”

Azriel's jaw clenched at Rhys's words, his temper flaring even as he tried to maintain a neutral expression. "You think I didn't consider the consequences? Of course, I did," he hissed, his voice dangerously low. "But feelings aren't logical, Rhys. We don't choose who we fall for, and it's not as simple as calculating political ramifications."

“I told Azriel to keep away from Elain. She fell for Lucien. He’s still moping about it and giving me the fault,” Rhys said flatly. “Out of pure interest, how much longer do you want to keep up with that, Az?”

Azriel couldn’t help the laugh that burst out od his mouth at that.

“You didn’t just fucking tell me to keep away from her. You told me and I quote ‘If you need to fuck somebody go to a pleasure hall and pay for it’,” Azriel repeated viciously.

"And I stand by that," Rhys snapped. "The last thing we need is for you to pine over someone who has made it clear where she stands. Elain has her mate, and she doesn't return your feelings. She’s married for gods’ sake!”

“Whoa!” Cassian cut them off. “What the fuck, Rhys?!”

"What?" Rhys demanded, glaring at Cassian.

Cassian gave him an incredulous look. "You told Azriel to go to a pleasure hall? Seriously?"

"I was trying to be helpful," Rhys said, his jaw clenching.

"Helpful?" Cassian asked incrediously. "Helpful would have been to be a little more understanding towards your brother's feelings. He does have them, you know,” Cassian said sarcastically.

"I know that," Rhys snapped. "But he needs to move on. It's not healthy to keep pining after someone who doesn't return his feelings."

“Where was this opinion for the 500 years of me pining after Mor?” Azriel snapped.

Rhys's expression darkened. "Don't do that, Azriel. Don't bring Mor into this. She's not relevant to this discussion."

”Not relevant?” Azriel gave back with a laugh. “I think she’s very relevant. You don’t trust me to act like an adult about my feelings. You ordered me to behave like I am some kind of rabid dog. More than once, more than twice. Constantly. Like I would ever do anything to put Mor and Emerie’s relationship into jeopardy. Don’t worry, High Lord. I’ll behave. I’ll leave Mor and Elain alone. .”

Rhys ran a hand through his hair, his frustration clear. "This is not about Mor, Azriel. This is about keeping the peace within our Inner Circle. Elain has her own life and her own happiness to think about. Interfering could only bring pain, not just for you, but for everyone involved. That’s why I ordered you to keep your distance. Not because I don’t trust your feelings or your actions, but because sometimes even the best intentions can have unintended consequences."

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Don't give me any of your high and mighty bullshit, Rhysand. You don’t think I am good enough for Mor, and you certainly don't think I am good enough for Elain. But don’t worry, I'll keep my distance, as ordered. I wouldn't want to risk upsetting your perfect little court or ruining your plans for peace. Just tell me who else is off limits, so I know who else I'm not good enough for. Maybe Gwyn? Because remember, ‘don’t you dare to pressure her’?"

Rhys sighed, his gaze softening slightly. "Azriel, it's not about who you're 'good enough' for and who you aren't. It's about respecting people's choices and boundaries. Elain has made her choice in Lucien, and I just want to protect her and the peace we've worked so hard to maintain. And no, nobody else is off limits. You're free to…'seek your entertainment' as you please."

His entertainment.

Right.

Azriel snorted, the sound full of derision. “It warms my heart that you give me that permission,” Azriel said, his voice dripping with disdain.

Rhys rolled his eyes, clearly irritated by Azriel's reaction. "I'm not trying to 'give you permission,' Azriel," he said firmly. "I'm just trying to make sure you understand why I'm asking you to behave. I care about you and our inner circle. You're my brother, but I also care about Elain and her happiness. I don't want to see anyone get hurt."

“Have I done anything, anything at all that put her happiness in jeopardy?” Azriel asked, his voices harsh. “I kept away as you ordered. I fucking saved Lucien’s life, so she could be happy.”

"You haven't done anything wrong," Rhys acknowledged, his tone softening. "You've been a better friend to Elain than anyone could have asked. You saved Luicen because you are a good person, not just for Elain's sake. But I still think it’s best if you keep your distance. Not just for her, but for yourself too. Dwelling on feelings that can’t be returned will only bring you pain."

“For cauldron’s sake, Rhys,” Cassian said with a sigh.

Rhys turned his attention to him, the exasperation clear in his eyes. "What, Cassian?" he asked, his tone weary.

Cassian rubbed a hand over his jaw, shaking his head. "You’re so hell bent on keeping the peace you forget that the people in your court have feelings too," he said. "Azriel isn’t some emotionless soldier doing your bidding. He has feelings and desires, just like everyone else. And sometimes it’s not as simple as just moving on."

"I know that," Rhys said, running a hand through his hair. "But sometimes we have to put our own feelings aside for the greater good. As a High Lord, I have to think about the impact my actions could have on others. I'm not trying to shut down Azriel's feelings. I'm just trying to protect him from potential pain.”

“Yeah you did a shitty job at that,” Cassian said drily. “You could have told Mor hundred of years ago to have a conversation with him. You didn’t. But Azriel is supposed to tread carefully not to make her or Emerie uncomfortable. Azriel is supposed to behave?”

Rhys's eyes flashed in anger. "I know I've made mistakes, Cassian. I should have handled things differently with Mor and Azriel. But I can't change the past. All I can do is try to make the best decisions for everyone involved right now."

“You don’t even fucking realise how much of a self important hypocritical asshole you are, do you?” Azriel asked flatly. “It’s okay for you to pursue an engaged female that’s engaged to another High Lord, damn the consequences. But the rest of us…we are told to behave.”

Rhys bristled at Azriel’s words, his own temper threatening to flare. "That's different, Azriel," he said, his voice sharp. "That’s different and you know it. You would understand if you had a…” he hesitated.

"If I had a what?" Azriel prompted sharply.

Rhys let out a frustrated sigh, his fingers clenching around his mug. "A mate."

“Rhys,” Cassian said carefully.

"What?" Rhys snapped, his temper still simmering just below the surface. “He doesn’t have a mate, he doesn’t fucking understand it.”

Aaaaaand…. Azriel was done.

So fucking done.

“Where are you going?” Rhys demanded as he stood up.

“Home,” Azriel said flatly. “You have my gifts, hand them out. Wish Feyre a Happy Birthday, will you? I’ll be back to do your bidding in about 3 days, High Lord.”

“I highly doubt that your mother will enjoy your impromptu appearance at Rosehall,” Rhys said. Azriel’s hand twitched towards Truthteller. “Let’s just…”

“Rhysand!” Cassian snapped.

“What?” Rhys asked.

“I have talked to my mother once since the Sealing of Velaris was lifted,” Azriel said tightly. “One conversation where she told me that she found a new family and that I should keep away from her. So no, Rhys. I am not going to Rosehall.”

Rhys looked utterly shell-shocked by Azriel’s revelation. "Azriel, I..." he started, but Azriel simply shook his head.

"Don't," he said. "Just don't." He didn’t wnat to talk about it. He never wanted to talk about that. His mother could do whatever she wanted. he would leave her alone, just as requested. But he was not going to talk about it.

“Then I am coming with you. You are not spending Winter Solstice alone brooding at the House of Wind,” Cassian said quickly, standing.

“I am not going to the House of Wind either.” Azriel answered flatly. “I am going home to my house and I won’t be alone either.”

"What do you mean you won't be alone?" Rhys asked sharply.

Azriel just snorted, “My mate will be there,” he said simply. “She’s better company than any of you.”

“Your...your mate?” Rhys repeated, his eyes widening.

Cassian gaped at Azriel. "Your mate? Why didn’t you tell us? Who is she?"

“Why should I tell you? ” Azriel gave back his voice icy. “I may trust you with this court, Rhysand, but I do not trust you with anything I love. Not anymore.”

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #it’s a love story

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